IRLF 


IIVERSITY    OF 
aiFORNIA 


er 


FLY-FISHING 


IN    MAINE    LAKES; 


OR, 


CAMP-LIFE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 


BY 

CHARLES   W.  STEVENS. 


God  made  the  country,  and  man  made  the  town." —  COWPER. 
| 

HOSTON: 
CUPl'LKS,  U  I'll  AM,  AND  COMPANY. 

I 


COPYRIGHT,  1884, 
BY  CHARLES  W.   STEVENS. 


jFrankltu  \jlitss: 

RAND,   AVERY,   AND    COMPANY, 
BOSTON 


To  the  best  of  listeners,  the  kindest  of  critics, 
who  for  many  years  has  shared  with  me  the  cares 
and  comforts  of  a  happy  home,  and  who  has  been 
my  fond  companion  in  my  journeyings  to  lake  and 
stream ;  in  memory  of  many  pleasant  hours  passed 
in  canoe  and  camp,  this  book  is  affectionately  ded- 
icated. 


M838953 


WHY. 


F  the  making  of  books,"  said  a  sacred  writer, 
"  there  is  no  end."     Possibly  the  desire  to 
make  one  myself  arose  from  the  fact  that  I 
have   taken   so   much    mental   recreation   in 
writing  these   sketches,  thus   renewing    past    enjoy- 
ments, and  indulging  anticipations  of  their  repetition 
in  the  future. 

A  part  of  the  contents,  through  heavy  bribes  and 
friendly  editors,  have  found  their  way  into  the  col- 
umns of  the  press,  though  I  have  never  learned  that 
the  sale  of  the  respective  papers  has  thereby  been 
visibly  increased. 

As  this  book  has  been  written  by  one  daily  en- 
gaged in  the  cares  and  perplexities  of  a  mercantile 
life,  I  hope  that  it  may  escape,  if  noticed  at  all,  harsh 

i 


2    "  WHY. 

criticism.  To  claim  for  it  any  thing  more  than  a 
description  of  a  sportsman's  pleasures,  by  a  keen 
lover  of  nature,  would  be  magnificently  absurd. 

To  the  many  friends  who  have  encouraged  this 
publication,  I  know  that  its  pages  will  sometimes  be 
welcome. 

To  those'who  have  visited  and  enjoyed  the  locali- 
ties it  describes,  I  hope  it  may  be.  If  it  should  call 
up  to  all  who  may  read  it  some  happy  remembrances 
of  the  past,  the  why  and  the  wherefore  will  have  been 
accomplished. 

THE-  AUTHOR. 

BOSTON,  August,  1880. 


was  an  agreeable  task,  the  writing  of  this 
little  book ;  and  if  half  the  pertinent  con- 
versations indulged  in  by  the  participants 
in  its  sports,  during  its  making,  were  inter- 
spersed in  its  pages,  it  would  have  been  a  long  one. 
It  was  this  that  made  the  occupation  so  pleasant, 
living  over  many  delightful  experiences,  and  looking 
forward  to  others  not  yet  seen  but  hoped  for. 
I  have  also  very  much  appreciated  the  enjoyment 

3 


4      INTRODUCTION   TO    THIRD  EDITION. 

my  friends  have  had  over  its  contents,  and  the  un- 
expected favor  with  which  it  has  been  received  by 
other  lovers  of  the  sport  and  the  wilderness. 

The  press  of  my  own  and  other  cities  have  spoken 
many  kind  words  for  it,  far  beyond  what  I  should 
have  dared  to  hope  :  for  this  I  am  truly  grateful. 

Believing,  from  the  recognition  it  has  received, 
that  it  may  still  enlarge  its  circle  of  readers,  the 
third  edition  is  issued  (the  second  being  ex- 
hausted) ;  to  which  have  been  added  new  chapters 
and  numerous  illustrations. 

The  sketches  were  drawn  by  my  friends  Mr. 
Joseph  P.  Livermore  and  Charles  W.  Reed  of  this 
city ;  who  have  caught  the  true  spirit  of  their  sub- 
jects, and  interpreted  them  with  artistic  skill  and 
fidelity.  I  here  tender  them  my  warmest  thanks 
for  their  kindness,  and  for  the  interest  they  have 
taken  in  their  work. 

And  now,  dear  reader,  in  parting  may  we  take  to 
heart  in  their  full  significance  these  charming  lines 
of  Tom  Moore  :  — 

"  Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy, 
Which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care, 
And  bring  back  the  features  which  joy  used  to  wear." 

VALE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  STARTING       .... 

II.  ON  THE  LAKE 

III.  IN  CAMP 

IV.  AN  UNFORTUNATE  DAY  . 

V.  GOOD-BY,  JOE        .... 

VI.  DEPARTURE        . 

VII.  ON  THE  ROAD       . 

VIII.  THE  WHITE  HILLS  . 

IX.  CRYSTAL  AND  GLEN  ELLIS  FALLS 

X.  GRAND  LAKE    .... 

XI.  How  NOT  TO  GO  . 

XII.  TOMAH  JOSEPH. 

XIII.  RUNNING  THE  RAPIDS. 

XIV.  A  STIFF  BREEZE      . 

5 


PAGE 

9 

23 

33 

46 

56 
70 
79 
91 
104 

"5 

122 
136 
M7 

166 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV.    PARMACHENEE  LAKE 174 

XVI.    PICKEREL-FISHING  IN  WINTER       .       .        183 
XVII.    A  SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN      .        .        .        .194 

A  RETROSPECT 209 

SUPPLEMENTARY 212 


FRONTISPIECE. 

FIRE!  STOP  THE  BOAT!       ....         PAGE  14 

TESTING  JOHN'S  MATTRESSES 22 

STUDIES  BY  OUR  ARTIST 24 

THE  SOCIAL  PIPE      . 32 

A  BROKEN  TIP 39 

FRANK,  SMUDGE  OUT  THE  CAMP     ....  45 

RIVER  WEIGHT 55 

A  FULL  CAR  (pull-man) 58 

TIME  TO  GET  UP 69 

LEGS  -vs.  WINGS 76 

A  WITHERING  LOOK 78 

AN  INTERVIEW 90 

MEETING  THE  PRINCE  ...                ...  103 

MISTER,  YOUR  COAT-TAILS  ARE  GETTING  WET      .  107 

DRIVE  ON 114 

THE  NET  RESULT 121 

7 


8  ILL  US TRA  TIONS. 

A  GRACEFUL  SKIP PAGE  124 

As  BLIND  AS  A  BAT 135 

SHE'S  A  RIPPER 146 

RUNNING  THE  RAPIDS 157 

WHILE  YOU  TURN  OVER 165 

WITH  A  PIE  IN  HER  HAND 171 

GOING  UP •.        .        .        .173 

THE  MAGALLOWAY 182 

RUN,  JOHNNY!    Go  IT,  TOM! 188 

MAKE  THE  CIRCLE  A  LITTLE  LARGER    .        .        .195 

BIG  JAKE  ENTERED  ON  TIPTOE 204 

THE  VICTIM 209 

FINIS 217 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES, 


CHAPTER   I. 

STARTING. 

E  was  a  very  good  sort  of  a  man, 
but  he  had  a  weakness  for  going 
a-fishing." 

If  he  who  made  this  remark,  in 
speaking  of  one  who  had  departed 
this  life,  had  profited  by  the  les- 
sons of  the  New  Testament,  he  might  have  sur- 
mised that  perhaps  the  Master  gave  evidence  of 
superior  wisdom  in  selecting  his  disciples,  not  from 
those  who  bought  and  sold,  and  would  fain  have 
pursued  their  mercenary  traffic  within  the  sacred 
walls  of  the  temple,  but  from  those  of  an  humble 
calling,  that  hardy  race  of  men  who  "  go  down  to 

9 


10          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

the  sea  in  ships,"  and  who  were  wont  to  cast  their 
nets  in  the  blue  waters  of  the  Galilee. 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  say  you,  "that  was  their 
business,  and  not  a  pastime." 

"  True  enough ;  but  do  you  not  believe  that  there 
was  something  in  the  very  nature  of  their  calling 
that  especially  fitted  them  for  the  great  work  they 
were  to  perform?" 

"  Well,  admit  it,  for  the  sake  of  the  argument : 
what  then  ? 

"  Simply  this  :  if  the  life  of  a  fisherman  has  that 
about  it  that  provokes  a  healthy  body  and  a  noble 
soul,  is  it  a  weakness  for  us  to  choose  for  a  recrea- 
tion, and  love  it  too,  that  which  brings  us  into  a 
more  intimate  communion  with  nature,  and  teaches 
us  to  look  up  with  feelings  of  reverence  and  love, 
from  the  most  beautiful  of  created  things,  to  Him 
that  has  created  them?" 

Oh,  yes,  my  friend  !  if  I  could  only  make  you 
appreciate  the  true  delights  of  the  angler's  pastime 
as  I  feel  it,  there  would  be  less  of  the  fashionable 
watering-place  sojournings,  I  warrant  you.  "  Come," 
said  I  to  one  who  could  not  find  an  opportunity 
to  leave  his  business  for  more  than  two  or  three 
days  at  a  time,  "  come  with  me  :  leave  these  piles 
of  brick  and  mortar  for  a  couple  of  weeks  at  least, 
and  inhale  the  pure  air  of  the  mountains ;  wander 


STARTING.  II 

beside  sparkling  rivulets ;  learn  a  little  of  the  fish- 
er's art,  and  enjoy  his  homely  fare,  his  hours  of  ease 
and  nights  of  rest ;  and  go  back  to  business  with 
renewed  vitality,  delightful  recollections,  and  a 
longer  lease  of  life."  And  so  at  last,  after  much 
converse,  I  prevailed  upon  my  friend,  and  aroused 
some  faint  enthusiasm  for  the  excursion.  And  oh  ! 
how  I  have  heard  the  young  man  "  enthuse  "  since 
that  time  over  the  remembrance  of  that  vacation 
and  several  others  of  like  nature  which  we  have 
passed  together  ! 

I  had  chosen  a  new  locality.  Having  fished 
Moosehead  and  other  smaller  Maine  lakes  with 
success,  I  had  decided  to  try  the  Umbagog  waters, 
and  for  seven  successive  seasons,  a  part  with  the 
friend  above  referred  to,  have  I  cast  my  flies  upon 
the  bosom  of  those  charming  lakes ;  and,  with  all 
respect  to  brother  Murray,  a  most  delightful  region 
have  I  found  it.  Naturally  the  outfit  of  our  party 
fell  upon  myself,  and  after-experiences  have  taught 
me  much  in  that  respect ;  and,  were  I  writing  for 
novices,  I  might  give  some  valuable  hints  in  that 
direction,  —  a  few  perhaps,  as  it  is,  may  not  come 
amiss.  And,  first  of  all,  wherever  you  may  go  for 
trout,  in  June  or  July,  take  with  you  a  goodly  quan- 
tity of  black-fly  poison.  I  have  used  several  kinds ; 
but  decidedly  the  best  I  have  found  is  prepared  by 


12         FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Dr.  Almy,  now  made  by  W.  B.  Mead,  218  Washing- 
ton Street,  Boston.  A  dollar  box  will  suffice  for  one 
person  for  a  three-weeks'  trip  :  it  is  perfectly  harm- 
less, and  to  me  rather  agreeable  than  otherwise. 
Now  take  a  pair  of  long  stockings,  cut  off  the  end  of 
the  foot,  make  a  hole  for  the  thumb,  and  slip  them 
on  the  hand  as  you  would  a  mitt,  securing  them  at 
the  elbows  with  an  elastic,  and  you  are  prepared  to 
resist  those  accompaniments  to  good  fishing,  black 
flies  and  mosquitoes,  which  abound  where  there  are 
trout  to  be  taken.  A  piece  of  mosquito-netting 
usually  comes  in  play  for  night  service.  These 
three  articles  I  consider  indispensable,  and  should 
as  soon  think  of  going  on  a  cruise  without  an  extra 
rod  as  to  leave  one  of  these  behind.  For  the 
rest  of  your  outfit,  should  some  novice  peruse  this 
sketch,  I  would  refer  him  to  "  The  Fishing  Tour- 
ist," by  Charles  Hallock,  one  of  the  most  sensible 
books  on  fishing  that  I  have  ever  read. 

My  journal  says  it  was  "  Monday  evening  on  the 
6th  of  June,  18 — ,"  that  a  hack  might  have  been 
seen  being  driven  down  to  Central  Wharf,  Boston, 
on  its  way  to  the  Portland  boat ;  on  the  back  seat 
my  better  half  (she  goes  a-fishing)  and  myself;  on 
the  front  seat  our  new  acquisition  to  the  disciples 
of  Walton,  not  yet  fully  convinced,  and  wondering 
if  he  could  get  a  lemon  on  board  in  case  of  sea- 


STARTING.  13 

sickness ;  while  inside  and  out  were  numerous  pack- 
ages and  portmanteaus  which  go  to  make  up  a 
fisherman's  outfit. 

The  voyage  to  Portland  by  steamboat,  on  a  star- 
light night,  with  a  soft  westerly  wind  and  a  smooth 
sea,  is  riot  an  extra  hazardous  one,  nor  does  it 
admit  of  any  glowing  imagery  of  description.  Char- 
lie didn't  need  his  lemons,  so  that  first  conun- 
drum of  his  was  never  solved.  We  chatted  on 
the  after-deck,  of  our  happy  exodus,  and  specu- 
lated on  coming  enjoyments,  till  one  by  one  our 
fellow-passengers  had  retired  and  we  held  full  pos- 
session ;  then  Charlie  insisted  that  I  should  sing 
"The  morning  light  is  breaking,"  which  I  kindly 
did,  although  I  could  hardly  see  the  appropriate- 
ness of  the  selection,  saving  its  being  the  only  sec- 
ular piece  I  do  sing :  however,  it  served  to  stir  up 
things  a  little,  for,  before  I  commenced  on  the  sec- 
ond line,  my  wife  and  Charles  bade  me  good-night, 
and  left  me  to  finish  my  hymn  to  the  mermaids. 

It  always  did  take  my  wife  a  long  time  to  let 
down  her  back  hair  :  so  I  lit  a  fresh  cigar,  and  gazed 
off  upon  the  "  moonlit  waves  "  (copied  by  permis- 
sion) .  I  had  finished  my  cigar,  and  still  sat  gazing 
far  away  to  where  Thacher  lights  were  gleaming  in 
the  distance,  when  a  different  kind  of  smoke  from 
that  in  which  I  had  been  indulging  invaded  my 


14          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

nostrils,  —  a  sort  of  cross  between  a  burning  bed- 
blanket  and  a  piece  of  burned  leather.  Now,  a 
smoke  usually  proceeds  from  a  fire  j  and  a  fire  on 
a  steamboat  outside  of  its  own  legitimate  domains, 
unless  it  be  at  the  end  of  a  cigar  or  in  the  bowl  of 
a  pipe,  is  not  a  thing  to  be  especially  desired,  and 
the  more  I  snuffed  the  stronger  grew  the  smell :  so 
up  I  got,  and  proceeded  on  a  tour  of  investigation, 
through  the  saloon,  down  between  decks,  forward 
and  aft.  For  five  crowded  minutes,  accompanied 
by  one  of  the  officers  of  the  boat,  to  whom  I  com- 
municated my  suspicions,  and  who  divided  with  me 
the  honors  of  the  smell,  did  I  search  for  that  fire ; 
when  suddenly  I  felt  something  hot  drop  upon  a 
bald  spot  I  wear  on  the  top  of  my  head.  Now 
surely  there  was  cause  for  alarm  :  taking  off  my  hat, 
a  felt  one,  the  origin  of  the  fire  was  found  j  a  spark 
from  the  smoke-stack  had  lodged  upon  the  crown 
of  my  hat,  and  committed  an  act  of  incendiarism. 
Rather  ludicrous  it  seemed  to  strike  my  friends,  but 
I  was  never  able  to  see  the  joke  in  the  same  light 
which  they  did.  Why  should  I  ?  I  told  my  wife,  as 
I  climbed  into  the  upper  berth,  that  it  was  a  serious 
subject :  the  boat  might  have  been  on  fire ;  and, 
giving  a  final  twist  to  her  locks,  that  woman  who  had 
sworn  to  "  love,  honor,  and  obey,"  "  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,"  actually  laughed.  I  always  get  the 


STARTING.  15 

better  of  that  back  hair  in  the  morning,  and  usually 
enjoy  about  forty  winks  while  it  is  being  tortured 
into  shape ;  but  this  morning  the  boat's  crew  seemed 
to  take  especial  delight  in  banging  away  below  us, 
while  above  our  heads  the  water-bucket  and  the 
broom  were  doing  active  service.  Sleep  after  four 
o'clock  was  under  these  circumstances  something 
which  the  inventor  of,  probably  not  having  been 
similarly  situated,  had  neglected  to  provide  for ;  and 
therefore  we  did  the  next  best  thing,  —  lay  awake  till 
a  reasonable  hour  for  getting  up  arrived,  and  the 
colored  cabin-boy  had  notified  us  by  numerous 
knocks  upon  our  stateroom-door  that  our  absence 
would  not  be  seriously  missed.  We  then  held  a 
council  of  war,  and  decided  to  dress  —  one  at  a 
time,  as  the  limited  capacity  of  our  room  did  not 
admit  of  much  sociability  in  that  proceeding.  Our 
toilets  completed,  we  were  met  in  the  saloon  by 
Charlie,  who  confessed  to  a  good  night's  rest  and  a 
prodigious  desire  for  breakfast.  Proceeding  to  the 
wharf,  we  were  met  by  a  most  gentlemanly  person, 
who  kindly  proposed  to  take  us  in  his  carriage  to 
the  Falmouth  Hotel  or  to  any  other  place  in  the 
"natural  seaport"  which  we  might  wish  to  visit. 
In  fact,  I  think  we  must  have  been  looked  upon  as 
rather  important  personages,  as  several  gentlemen 
joined  him  in  offering  the  use  of  their  carriages : 


1 6          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

we,  however,  accepted  the  first  invitation,  and  were 
soon  enjoying  a  splendid  breakfast  with  mine  host 
Wheeler  at  the  Falmouth. 

The  train  on  the  Grand  Trunk  on  which  we 
were  to  leave  for  Bryant's  Pond  Station  not  leaving 
until  two  o'clock,  we  had  abundant  opportunity  to 
enjoy  a  drive  about  the  beautiful  city  of  Portland ; 
the  Promenade  (so  called)  around  Munjoy  Hill 
giving  us  a  fine  view  of  Casco  Bay  with  its  numer- 
ous islands,  and  that  around  BramhaU's  Hill,  at  the 
western  extremity  of  the  city,  a  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  with  the  tall  peaks  of  the  White 
Hills  in  the  far  distance  for  a  background. 

Two  o'clock,  and  away  we  go.  "  All  aboard,"  has 
been  shouted  by  our  veteran  conductor  (Gould)  ; 
and  a  dejected  old  gentleman  views  with  despair 
his  trunk  —  which  he  has  neglected  to  check  —  on 
the  platform,  as  we  pass  out  of  the  depot.  Just 
a  glimpse  of  the  mammoth  pier  which  was  built 
for  the  "Great  Eastern,"  when  she  should  make 
the  "natural  seaport"  her  first  port  of  entry,  but 
which  time  never  came;  a  glance  at  the  new 
marine  hospital  at  Westbrook,  with  White  Head 
towering  up  in  the  distance,  — and  we  are  rattling  off 
into  a  charming  country,  dotted  here  and  there 
with  such  farm-houses  as  only  one  can  see  in  New 
England,  from  the  window  of  a  railroad-car. 


STARTING.  17 

"Coin'  a-fishin?"  accompanied  with  a  poke  on 
my  left  shoulder,  drew  my  attention  from  a  pretty 
farm-picture  on  which  I  was  gazing,  to  a  rural 
specimen  of  the  genus  homo  on  the  seat  behind 
me.  "  What  der  yer  'spect  ter  ketch?  " 

"  Any  thing,  sir,  that  will  rise  to  a  fly ;  wouldn't 
object  to  a  salmon,  but  will  be  content  with  a 
trout." 

"  Rise  to  a  fly  !  guess  if  they  rise  to  flies  you'll 
see  lots  of  fish." 

"  Oh  !  then  trout  are  plenty  this  season,  are 
they?" 

"  Don't  know  nothing  about  trout,  but  flies  air. 
Where  yer  from?" 

"  Boston." 

"Where  yer  going?" 

"  Upper  Dam,  Richardson  Lake." 

"Sho  !  she  going  too?" 

"Yes." 

"Fishing?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Gosh  !  cummin'  all  the  way  from  Boston  to  go 
a  fishin'.  Not  in  them  clo'es,  is  she? " 

We  explained  that  our  fishing-outfit  was  quite 
different  from  our  present  dress,  and  that  we  were 
accustomed  to  roughing  it.  The  idea  of  our 
"cummin5  all  the  the  way  from  Boston  to  go 


1 8          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

a-fishin',  and  she  goin'  too,"  so  impressed  the 
old  gentleman  that  he  lapsed  into  profound  medi- 
tation, and  we  heard  nothing  more  from  him  till 
we  stepped  from  the  car  at  Bryant's  Pond,  when  I 
overheard  him  say  to  an  old  lady  opposite,  — 

"  Jess  think  of  it !  he  said  they'd  come  all  the 
way  from  Boston  to  go  a-fishin'." 

The  stage-coach  —  that  old-fashioned,  charming 
vehicle  of  locomotion  which  we  had  been  advised 
would  be  in  waiting  to  take  us  to  Andover  — 
greeted  our  vision  as  we  alighted  from  the  train ; 
and,  scrambling  for  outside  seats,  we  little  heeded 
the  remark  of  our  driver,  that  "  she  wouldn't  bal- 
ance unless  some  of  us  got  inside." 

Get  inside?  not  much.  We  had  anticipated 
this  glorious  ride  too  much  for  that :  so  we  stowed 
our  luggage  on  the  lower  deck,  with  one  or  two 
way-passengers,  and  kept  our  lofty  seats,  hugging 
to  them,  and  to  each  other,  as  we  sped  away  right 
merrily  down  hill  and  up  hill,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  deliver  a  lean  mail-bag  to  some  female 
government  attachee,  who  would  cast  shy  glances 
at  the  members  of  the  party  on  the  outside,  who 
"  cum  all  the  way,"  &c.,  and  then  trip  gayly  back  to 
the  post-office,  to  sort  the  mail,  and  guess  at  the 
contents  of  the  letters. 

We  soon  found  our  driver  to  be  a  lively  and 


STARTING.  19 

communicative  chap,  as  they  usually  are;  and 
before  we  had  proceeded  many  miles  he  had 
sifted  us  down  pretty  well,  and  given  us  a  very 
good  history  of  himself,  family,  and  horses. 

One  of  us  observed  that  the  leaders  didn't  ap- 
pear to  be  quite  well  matched. 

"  Well  matched  !  Gentlemen,  there  never  was 
a  pair  of  better-matched  horses  than  them  air 
leaders.  You  see,  the  off  one  wants  to  do  all 
the  work,  and  the  nigh  one  is  perfectly  willing 
he  should." 

That  wasn't  bad,  and  we  gave  it  the  laugh  it 
deserved.  The  next  year  I  got  the  witticism  with- 
out any  suggestion  on  my  part,  and  didn't  laugh 
quite  so  loud.  I  have  heard  it  seven  times,  and 
the  worthy  deacon  seems  to  enjoy  his  little  joke 
more  and  more.  I  can  see  him  now,  gathering 
himself  up,  and  giving  the  "  nigh  one  "  a  little 
tingler  on  the  left  ear,  as  introductory. 

Well,  here  we  are  at  Rumford,  ten  miles  from 
Bryant's  Pond,  and  as  many  more  to  Andover, 
where  we  are  to  spend  the  night  and  make  our 
preparations  for  departure  to  the  lakes.  The  driver 
informs  us  that  we  sup  here.  The  landlord  looks 
inviting,  and  the  table  more  so.  We  do  full  justice 
to  the  meal ;  but  "six  boiled  eggs,"  Master  Charles, 
I  will  never  confess  to.  We  have  disputed  that 


20          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

point  many  times  :  I  acknowledge  four,  but  "six  " 
—  excuse  me. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  said  a  lady  to  Mrs. 
S.,  as  she  was  leaving  the  parlor  for  her  outside 
seat.  "Do  you  not  remain  with  us?"  My  wife 
remarked  that  our  journey  lay  farther  on,  behind 
the  hills. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  !  this  is  such  a  lovely  spot, 
so  romantic  !  such  a  superabundance  of  beauty,  it 
would  seem  as  if  nature  had  thrown  every  thing 
into  wild  confusion."  Fortunately,  before  we  had 
quite  digested  this  burst  of  eloquence,  the  cry  of 
"  Stage  ready  "  prevented  our  being  obliged  to  ex- 
tend the  conversation ;  but  as  we  whirled  away  from 
the  door  I  launched  at  her  from  my  lofty  pinnacle 
a  few  harmless,  disconnected  adjectives,  just  to 
show  her  we  knew  how  it  was  done. 

A  short  ride  brings  us  to  the  banks  of  the 
Androscoggin,  dividing  the  village  of  Rumford, 
and  which  we  cross  on  what  is  known  as  a  rope- 
ferry,  —  a  rope  stretched  across  the  river,  on  which 
runs  a  pulley  attached  to  another  rope  made  fast  to 
the  boat :  the  force  of  the  current,  with  a  little  guid- 
ance from  the  "bold  ferry-man,"  is  all  that  is  re- 
quired to  land  us  on  the  opposite  shore,  up  which 
our  horses  canter,  and  we  are  bowling  along  at  a 
lively  pace  toward  Andover. 


STARTING.  21 

Our  mail-foags  grow  leaner  as  we  pass  them  out 
from  under  the  boot ;  the  deacon  has  talked  him- 
self out,  and  with  an  occasional,  "  Rup  there," 
"Whoa,  Sail,"  we  hear  but  little  from  him.  The 
madam  leans  rather  heavily  upon  my  right  shoul- 
der, as  if  her  journey,  Rumford  eloquence,  or  ca- 
tering, had  been  too  much  for  her.  Charlie  thinks 
his  creature  comfort  demands  his  winter  overcoat. 
The  patriarch  of  the  flock  lights  his  pipe,  and,  fail- 
ing to  arouse  any  enthusiasm  over  what  a  charming 
sunset  there  might  have  been  under  certain  con- 
tingencies, sinks  into  a  brown  study,  cogitating  what 
flies  he  will  use  for  his  first  cast.  Darkness  settles 
down  upon  us,  and  the  sparkle  of  thousands  of 
fireflies  seem  but  the  reflection  of  the  twinkling 
stars. 

"  Only  one  mile  more,"  from  the  deacon,  rouses 
us  from  our  meditations ;  and,  as  the  village  bell 
rings  out  the  hour  of  nine,  we  whirl  up  to  the  door 
of  the  Andover  House. 

I  don't  suppose  that  Uncle  John  Merrill,  our 
landlord,  will  ever  forget,  or.  cease  to  remind  me, 
how  resignedly  my  wife  fell  into  his  arms  that  night 
as  she  descended  from  her  lofty  perch.  Charlie 
and  myself  had  no  such:  kindly  reception,  but  were 
made  very  welcome,  and  were  soon  on  nearly  as 
intimate  terms  with,  our  good-natured  host,  who 


22  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

had  been  apprised  of  our  coming,  and  whose  best 
chambers  had  been  swept  and  garnished  for  our 
arrival.  A  short  talk  over  our  prospects  at  the 
lake,  and  we  were  ready  to  test  John's  mattresses. 


CHAPTER   II. 


ON   THE   LAKE. 

HEN  you  have  reached  a  quiet 
country  village,  late  at  night,  after 
a  long  day's  journey,  refreshingly 
tired,  have  you  not  thought  how 
you  would  sleep  long  into  the  morn- 
ing? And  when  the  early  morning 
came,  did  you  not  find  yourself  sadly  disappointed  ? 
Talk  about  the  country  stillness  !  generally  speak- 
ing, that's  all  moonshine  :  you  hear  plenty  of  noises. 
The  "  early  village  cock  "  is  the  first  to  give  token 
of  the  morn ;  then  some  noble  Newfoundland,  or 
cur  of  low  degree,  launches  his  bark  on  the  sea 
of  time's  new  day  ;  and  you  wish,  just  for  that  brief 
interval  between  trying  to  get  a  morning  nap  and 
finally  giving  it  up,  that  you  were  back  again  to  your 
own  bed  and  listening  to  the  accustomed  sounds 
which  you  do  not  hear.  However,  when  you  do 

23 


24          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

become  fully  aroused,  shake  off  the  bedclothes,  and 
put  your  head  out  of  the  window,  and  get  a  sight 
of  the  far-off  hills,  and  one  good  wholesome  coun- 
try smell,  all  animosity  is  fled  :  you  forgive  both 
fowl  and  beast  for  early  rising ;  and  you  sit  there 
in  the  cool  of  the  morning,  or  I  often  have,  drink- 
ing in  the  glories  of  the  budding  morn.  Oh  !  isn't 
it  delicious  ?  One  doesn't  need  to  pour  exhilara- 
tion down  his  throat  to  give  him  an  appetite  for 
breakfast :  it  is  drank  in  through  the  other  senses, 
and  sends  a  thrill  of  pleasure  over  the  whole  body. 
And  when  we  all  sit  around  John's  neatly-spread 
table,  and  taste  the  fresh  eggs  and  the  dainty 
trout,  we  begin  to  feel  already  a  newer  life  and  a 
most  voracious  appetite. 

"It  does  me  good  to  see  you  take  hold,"  said 
John,  as  he  bustled  about  the  table,  his  gray  hair 
and  long  beard  glistening  in  the  morning  sun. 
"  But,  bless  your  souls  !  this  is  nothing  to  what  you 
will  be  able  to  do  when  you  get  back.  And  now 
hurry  up,  and  get  ready  for  a  start :  the  buckboard 
will  be  at  the  door  in  half  an  hour." 

If  our  friend,  who  interviewed  us  on  the  cars, 
could  have  seen  us  as  we  were  ready  for  departure, 
he  would  scarcely  have  recognized  us ;  "  them 
clothes  "  having  been  laid  aside  for  the  fisherman's 
garb.  My  wife  never  looked  better  in  my  eyes 


ON  THE  LAKE.  25 

than  she  did  when  about  to  mount  the  buckboard  : 
a  bloomer  suit,  made  of  dark  waterproof,  good 
stout  boots,  buck  gloves  with  armlets  reaching  to 
and  well  secured  at  the  elbow,  a  gentleman's  felt 
hat,  and  white  tarltan  veil  fastened  to  the  band, 
completely  encircling  the  head,  and  secured  by  an 
elastic  to  the  collar  of  the  dress,  thus  affording  an 
effectual  barrier  to  the  flies  and  mosquitoes  that 
awaited  our  coming  and  were  thirsting  for  city 
blood. 

After  three  miles  of  quite  rapid  travelling  over  an 
ordinary  country  thoroughfare,  we  left  civilization, 
and  turned  into  the  road  which  leads  to  the  arm 
of  the  lake,  —  nine  miles  through  a  dense  forest 
where  locomotion  becomes  slow,  and  were  it  not 
for  its  novelty  might  become  tedious,  as  it  takes 
three  hours  to  accomplish  the  distance.  But  we 
are  a  gay  and  happy  party,  and  with  jokes,  stories, 
and  song  the  hours  soon  slip  by ;  and,  before  we 
begin  to  feel  at  all  wearied  with  our  jaunt,  we  come 
out  upon  a  small  clearing,  and  our  driver  says, 
"  Here  we  are."  We  see  a  small  black-looking 
camp,  but  no  lake,  so  completely  is  it  hidden  by 
the  dense  woods.  Here  we  prepare  our  lunch,  and 
eat  it  with  a  hearty  relish,  first  making  a  smudge  on 
the  cook-stove  to  clear  the  camp  of  "  flies  and 
bich."  Our  guides  unloose  our  baggage  from  the 


26          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

blackboard,  and,  hoisting  it  upon  their  shoulders, 
disappear  through  a  labyrinth  of  trees  and  under- 
brush, while  we  stand  wondering  where  they  are  to 
find  boats  and  water.  But  we  have  faith,  and  show 
it  by  our  works,  as  we  pick  up  some  of  the  lighter 
parcels,  and  follow. 

"  Don't  stumble,  Frank  !  look  out  there  !  Don't 
you  see  you  have  the  package  marked  '  Glass,  with 
care'?" 

"  I  know  it,  sir  !  and  I'll  take  good  care  I  don't 
drop  it :  I  allers  look  out  sharp  for  them  packages 
—  contents  good  for  wet  soles,  ain't  they,  sir?  " 

"Yes,  and  dry  uppers." 

"Well,  sir,  here's  the  boat,  she's  all  right:  the 
lady  had  better  stay  by  that  smudge  till  we  get  her 
stowed  —  the  boat,  I  mean." 

We  see  the  boat,  and  believe  in  that,  also  in  our 
guides ;  and  our  faith,  though  slightly  wavering  as 
we  gaze  down  the  narrow,  dirty  stream  not  ten  feet 
wide,  still  holds  out.  Charlie  will  insist  upon  my 
unloading  my  revolver,  which  I  had  carefully  laid 
in  the  stern  sheets  for  the  benefit  of  some  erratic 
loon  ;  which  done,  and  the  madam  called  and  com- 
fortably seated  on  the  softest  blanket,  we  push  off 
with  kind  good-bys  and  good  wishes  from  Uncle 
John. 

We  thread  for  a  moment  or  two  the  narrow  wind- 


ON  THE  LAKE.  27 

ing  passage  in  which  our  boat  lies  concealed.  At 
first  a  hush,  a  solemn  stillness,  then  a  burst  of  sur- 
prise from  each  as  we  glide  forth  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  lake.  A  gentle  breeze,  and  a  fair  one. 
Hoisting  our  sail  we  move  gracefully  onward. 
And  now  our  faith  is  lost  in  sight,  as  the  wide  ex- 
panse of  water,  fringed  on  all  sides  with  the  un- 
broken green  of  undisturbed  forests,  meets  our 
gaze. 

"  Oh  !  how  beautiful,  how  beautiful ! "  bursts 
from  the  lips  of  the  gentler  one  as  she  throws  up 
her  veil  (no  fear  of  flies  here) .  "  How  could  Mr. 
Murray  write  as  he  did  about  the  scenery  of 
Maine?" 

"  Probably  because  he  never  had  seen  it." 

"  Fortunately  for  us  he  hadn't,  or  we  might  be 
sailing  up  the  lake  to-day  with  a  small  fleet,  instead 
of  being  solitary  voyagers  as  we  appear  to  be. 
But  what  are  those  tall  peaks  over  there  in  the  dis- 
tance?" 

"  Those  are  the  White  Mountains ;  those  small 
buildings  you  see  in  the  line  of  the  hills  down  by 
the  shore  are  Middle  Dam  Camp.  There's  the 
source  of  the  Androscoggin :  good  fishing  there, 
but  not  near  as  pleasant  as  our  destination."  All 
this  from  the  intelligent  guides  Charles  Cutting 
and  Frank  Merrill. 


28          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

The  breeze,  which  had  been  quite  fresh  at  start- 
ing, now  died  away  to  almost  a  calm,  so  that  in 
spite  of  the  helmsman's  skill  the  sail  flapped  idly 
against  the  mast,  and  scarce  a  ripple  stirred  the 
waters  beneath  our  stern. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Cutting  as  he  choked  off  a 
prolonged  whistle  with  which  he  had  been  en- 
deavoring to  "raise  the  wind."  "It's  got  to  be  a 
white-ash  breeze,  Frank,  and  that  means  you  and 
me.  It  never  blows  in  the  narrows,  and  when  it 
does  it's  sure  to  be  the  wrong  way.  Put  out  your 
trolling-line,  Mr.  Stevens,  and  you  may  get  a  trout 
or  two  for  supper." 

That  was  a  pleasant  suggestion,  and,  as  I .  after- 
wards learned,  an  uncommon  one  for  a  guide  to 
offer,  for  it  adds  somewhat  to  the  weight  of  an 
oar  when  a  hundred  feet  of  line  attached  to  a  troll- 
ing-spoon  is  being  dragged  behind  ;  but  we  had  an 
unusual  passenger  (for  at  that  time  few  ladies  had 
visited  our  camping- ground)  and  our  boys  were 
polite  accordingly.  I  put  out  my  line,  and  the 
silver  spoon  glistens  brightly  in  the  sun  as  it  floats 
away  upon  the  water.  I  was  just  shaking  off  the 
last  few  yards  of  line  from  the  reel  which  was  turn- 
ing summersaults  between  my  feet  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  when  a  quick,  sharp  jerk  almost  pulled  it 
from  our  hands,  and  in  less  time  than  I  can  describe 


ON  THE  LAKE.  29 

it  —  instantly,  almost  —  Charlie  B.'s  white  hat  was 
jammed  down  over  his  eyes,  and  faint  mutterings  of 
"  Oh,  oh,  don't !  I  didn't  mean  to ;  I  won't ! " 
were  heard  beneath  it.  I  had  been  too  quick  for  the 
boy,  and  caught  him  even  with  hi:;  fingers  on  the 
line.  Taken  in  the  act,  his  punishment  was  sharp, 
quick,  and  decisive ;  and  not  until  the  youth  had 
promised  to  cut  me  six  pipes  of  tobacco  did  I 
withdraw  the  "  felt." 

On  we  pulled,  leisurely  but  steadily,  with  just 
speed  enough  to  keep  the  line  on  the  surface,  for 
it  does  not  do  to  hurry  in  this  country.  And  now 
no  fingers  give  that  jerk,  but  the  mouth  of  some 
member  of  the  finny  tribe  has  closed  over  the 
spoon.  The  boys  back  water,  and  hand  over  hand 
we  pull,  "  Gently,  not  too  fast,  sir  :  that's  better ;  " 
and  in  a  few  moments  our  first  trout  lies  before  us. 
"  Beautiful !  "  well  you  may  say  so,  for  what  is  more 
beautiful  than  a  well-developed  pound  trout  ?  and 
he  weighed  just  a  pound ;  one  scale  more  would 
have  turned  the  scale. 

Six  longing,  loving  eyes  gazed  tenderly  upon  him, 
a  bright  flush  lit  up  their  anxious  faces,  and  (alas  ! 
frail  human  nature)  three  hungry  mortals  wondered 
whether  there  was  enough  of  him  to  go  round. 
Over  goes  the  line  again,  and  the  boys,  made  happy 
by  our  success,  hurry  up  a  bit,  and  pull  ten  strokes 
more  to  the  hour. 


30          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Before  we  were  through  the  narrows,  two  more, 
just  about  the  size  of  the  first,  left  their  watery 
abodes  for  that  bourn  from  which  no  trout  returns. 
And  now,  our  supper  secured,  we  reel  up,  and  feast 
our  eyes  on  the  first  trophies  of  our  anticipated 
sport ;  not  taken,  however,  as  the  educated  sports- 
man is  wont  to  entice  this  brightest  jewel  in  Un- 
dine's crown.  No,  the  true  sport  is  to  come,  when, 
as  sunset  glories  tinge  the  waters  with  a  golden 
hue,  our  dancing  flies  skip  to  the  gentle  music  of  a 
southern  breeze,  over  the  rippled  surface  of  that 
nameless  cove,  tempting  with  their  varied  colors 
this  queen  of  the  lake  and  mountain  streams.  But 
we  grow  poetical :  "  Charlie,  pass  the  tar." 

One  who  sits  beside  me  as  I  write  these  lines 
suggests  that  I  reserve  a  few  adjectives  with  which 
to  describe  the  beauty  of  the  scene  that  greeted  us 
as  we  passed  out  from  the  narrows  into  the  upper 
lake.  But  it's  of  no  use  :  I  never  could  do  it  full 
justice.  We  that  have  been  there  know,  yes,  can 
see  it  all  now  as  it  burst  upon  our  astonished  vision 
that  June  afternoon,  again  as  it  appeared  in  the  soft 
moonlight  when  one  evening  we  viewed  it  from 
our  boat,  lazily  drifting  with  the  current,  ay,  and 
many  times  since. 

Where  are  those  mountains,  shorn  of  their  trees 
from  base  to  summit,  of  which  the  "  pastor  "  tells 


ON  -THE  LAKE.  31 

us?  Surely  yonder  sentinel  towering  up  at  the 
head  of  the  lake  is  not  one  of  them,  for  that  the 
foot  of  man  has  never  trod,  nor  yet  those  twin  sis- 
ters on  our  left.  Where  is  the  " debris"  the  slabs 
and  sawdust  that  denote  the  lumberman's  camp  ? 
Surely  not  in  the  clear  sparkling  streams  that  pour 
their  waters  into  this  grand  reservoir  of  nature. 
Fie,  Mr.  Murray  !  you  didn't  know  what  you  were 
writing  about ;  and,  faith,  I  hope  you  never  will. 

•We  must  leave  preachers  and  preaching,  for 
here  we  are  at  the  landing.  That  building  at  the 
foot  of  the  lake,  which  has  such  a  civilized  look 
about  it,  is  Joe  Whitney's  camp  ;  and  a  fine  one  it 
is  too,  and  beautifully  situated,  as  you  can  see.  Call 
there  some  time  in  passing :  if  Joseph  is  at  home, 
you  will  find  the  latch-string  on  the  outside,  and  a 
sportsman's  welcome  ;  if  not  at  home,  brother  Cole 
will  do  the  honors,  and  accept  from  you  any  news- 
papers that  you  have  brought  along. 

But  come,  pick  up  some  light  baggage,  and  let 
us  find  our  camp  ;  for  it  is  getting  late,  and  Joe  may 
be  cross  when  he  sees  a  woman  coming.  Joe  is 
our  cook,  u.  French  Canadian,  of  seventy  summers 
and  nearly  as  many  winters,  and  who  has  been 
here  for  about  twenty-five  years :  we  will  tell  you 
some  of  his  eccentricities  in  our  next  chapter. 
But  no,  Joe  is  not  cross,  for  there  is  not  a  fisher- 
man in  camp,  and  he  is  getting  lonesome. 


32 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 


"  Joe,  this  is  Mr.  B and  my  wife." 

"  How  do  you  do,  well  ?  "  ' 

"Plenty  fish,  Joe?" 

"  Plenty  feesh  and  plenty  fly,  my  God.  You 
troll,  get  feesh  for  supper?" 

"Yes,  Frank  will  bring  them  up  in  a  minute." 

"Fry  him?" 

"Yes." 

"You  bring  butter,  eggs,  yes?  " 

"  All  the  good  things,  Joe." 

"  You  got  camp  all  to  yourselfs,  lucky,  yes." 

"Well,  Joe,  I  reckon  we  will  get  into  it,  and  stow 
away  our  traps,"  which  we  did ;  and  after  a  glori- 
ous trout  supper,  a  social  pipe  and  chat,  retired  at 
an  early  hour  to  dream  of  the  morrow's  sport. 


CHAPTER   III. 


IN   CAMP. 

T  was  four  o'clock  by  my  watch  when 
I  awoke  in  the  morning.  Thanks  to 
Joe's  comfortable  bed  and  our  mos- 
quito-canopy, we  were  undisturbed  by 
the  festive  mosquito,  and  our  sleep 
was  quiet  and  restful.  The  madam 
said  she  had  "  slept  like  a  top."  I  complimented 
her  on  her  fresh  appearance,  congratulated  her  that 
she  had  rested  so  well,  and  then  provoked  her  by 
asking  if  she  could  tell  me  how  a  top  slept.  I 
could  never  exactly  see  why  this  comparison,  and 
I  am  sorry  to  say  I  got  no  information  this  time.  I 
suggested  that  probably  a  top  slept  to  hittn,  and  we 
didn't,  but  that  did  not  improve  matters. 

It  was  four  o'clock  by  my  watch,  I  said,  when 
we  awoke  :  there  was  a  little  dispute  about  that 
also ;  the  party  of  the  other  part  said  it  was  three 

33 


34          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

minutes  past,  —  a  small  portion  of  time  to  vex  one's 
self  about  so  early  in  the  morning,  you  would  say. 
If  you  had  seen  that  room  after  we  had  discussed 
the  matter  in  a  calm  and  reasonable  manner  for 
about  five  minutes,  you  might  think  differently.  I 
finally  gave  up,  as  usual,  set  my  watch  three  minutes 
ahead,  and  commenced  to  repair  damages.  This 
little  episode  served  to  give  us  a  good  appetite  for 
breakfast,  to  which  we  did  full  justice. 

If  my  readers  who  have  journeyed  with  us  thus 
far  are  disposed  to  tarry  with  us  yet  a  little  longer, 
it  is  very  proper  that  they  should  be  given  some 
brief  description  of  our  abode.  Upper  Dam  Camp 
is  situated  at  the  head  of  a  small  and  rapid  stream, 
called  Rapid  River,  which  separates  the  two  lakes, 
Mooselucmaguntic  and  Mollychunkemunk.  I  like 
to  write  those  two  names,  there  is  such  a  sense  of 
relief  when  I  get  through.  If  I  were  a  schoolboy 
I  would  write  a  composition  often  about  the  Maine 
lakes,  their  names  would  fill  up  so  well. 

The  camp,  comprising  two  buildings,  one  for 
cooking  and  eating,  the  other  for  drinking  and 
sleeping,  is  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  dam  itself, 
a  splendid  structure  and  well  calculated  to  improve 
one  in  gymnastic  exercises.  From  the  piers  of 
this  dam  we  cast  our  flies,  and  entice  the  wary 
trout;  and  for  such  sport,  if  you  will  forgive  the 
seeming  paradox,  it  has  no  peer. 


IN  CAMP.  35 

Half  a  mile  from  the  camp,  near  the  outlet  of 
Mooselucmaguntic,  is  Trout  Cove,  beautifully  situ- 
ated, commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  lake  and  dis- 
tant hills ;  the  joy  of  the  angler's  heart,  for  beneath 
the  surface  of  its  clear,  cold  waters,  sport,  in  all 
the  vigor  of  a  healthful  growth,  the  finest  speci- 
mens of  the  salmo  fontinalis  to  be  found  in  any 
section  of  our  country.  In  the  spring  they  var) 
in  size  from  a  quarter  of  a  pound  to  four  pounds 
in  weight,  the  average  being  about  a  pound,  quite 
a  number  weighing  from  two  to  three,  while  one  of 
four  is  of  course  rarely  taken.  In  the  fall  they  run 
as  high  as  eight  pounds,  while  they  have  been  taken 
weighing  twelve. 

Our  fishing  is  done  from  flat-bottomed  boats,  usu- 
ally one  fisherman  and  guide  in  each,  and  the  trout 
preserved  alive  in  cars  moored  to  the  shore  of  the 
cove.  Our  average  catch,  thirty  per  day,  morning 
and  evening  fishing,  taken  altogether  with  the  fly. 
To  those  accustomed  to  taking  brook-trout,  this 
may  seem  a  small  number;  but  the  ease,  excite- 
ment, and  size  of  the  game,  more  than  out-balance 
the  greater  number  of  small  fry  which  may  be 
caught  in  any  quantity  in  the  streams  which  abound 
in  this  locality.  The  cove,  the  dam,  and  the  outlet 
of  the  stream,  comprise  our  fishing-grounds,  all 
within  easy  distance  of  the  camp  and  within  hear- 


3<5  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

ing  of  Joe's  horn  which  he  blows  to  call  us  to  our 
meals ;  and,  as  promptness  at  the  table  so  far  as 
guests  are  concerned  is  one  of  Joe's  particular 
hobbies,  this  is  worthy  of  note.  Speaking  of  Joe 
reminds  me  that  I  promised  in  my  last  chapter  to 
introduce  him  more  particularly  to  your  notice. 
Joseph  is  in  all  respects  the  major-domo  of  the 
camp  :  he  cooks,  washes,  irons,  makes  the  beds, 
builds  the  fire,  makes  the  smudge,  milks  the  cow, 
feeds  the  hens,  in  fact,  does  every  thing  but  "  clean 
feesh,"  make  out  your  bill,  and  take  your  money. 
In  regard  to  the  latter,  I  have  found  that  a  green- 
back between  your  palm  and  his  when  shaking 
hands  with  him  upon  arrival  does  not  lessen  the 
cordiality  with  which  you  are  received. 

Joe  has  some  peculiarities :'  who  of  us  have 
not?  One  of  his  greatest  is  doing  what  you  tell 
him  to  do  (an  A  i  quality) .  If  he  has  a  dish  in 
his  hand,  and  you  should  say  "Joe,  drop  that,"  he 
would  do  it,  on  the  table  or  floor,  just  where  he 
happened  to  be.  I  never  have  tried  it,  nor  do  I 
propose  to,  for  it's  a  waste  of  property,  and  there  is 
a  sequel  to  it ;  but  I  have  seen  those  who  have. 
Joe  has  a  way  of  saying  "  My  God,"  which  seems  a 
cross  between  an  oath  and  a  supplication,  which 
would  be  equally  acceptable  to  a  Bowery  boy  or  a 
circuit -preacher,  I  never  could  believe  that  he 


IN  CAMP.  37 

meant  it  wicked,  and  it  conveys  a  great  deal.  But 
above  all,  and  over  all,  more  than  compensating  for 
his  minor  failings,  Joe  is  strictly  honest :  he  will 
take  all  you  give  him,  but  nothing  that  you  do  not : 
not  even  a  State  constable's  bete  noir,  though  he 
loves  it,  and  never  refuses  when  asked.  I  would 
not  give  so  much  space  to  Joe,  were  it  not  that  he 
is  part  and  parcel  of  the  lakes  themselves  :  all  the 
fishermen  look  upon  him  as  their  godfather ;  and  I 
verily  believe  the  trout  are  so  fond  of  him,  that 
they  cook  themselves  to  a  lovelier  brown  as  they 
look  up  from  the  pan  into  his  anxious  furrowed 
face.  I  can  see  him  now  as  he  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  camp-  some  two  hours  after  our  amiable 
discussion  in  regard  to  tempus  fitgit,  and  recall  his 
first  salutation,  thoughtful  and  kind  as  a  mother's 
care:  "Miss  Stevens  sleep  good,  rro?rr — "Yes, 
Joe,  first-rate,  splendidly. rr — "No-  fly,  rrrerskeeter, 
no?  "  —  "  Not  a  sign  of 'em.  See  here,  Joe,'r  and 
we  take  him  into  our  room,  and  show  him  the  can- 
opy suspended  over  the  bed  He  takes  a:  survey 
of  it,  and  a  look  of  wonder  gathers  over  his  face  : 
the  expression  we  have  quoted  above  welte  up  to 
his  lips,  but  he  restrains  it.  "  Well,  Joe,  what  do 
you  think  of  that?" —  "  It  is  mce.rr—  "  Yes,  so  it 
is,  my  dear  fellow,  a  camp-luxury.  But  how  about 
breakfast  ?  "  —  "  You  have  feesh,  Mr.  Stevens?  "  — 


38  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

«  Yes."  —  "  You  have  him  fry  ?  "  —  "  Yes."  —  "  Egg 
fry,  yes?"  —  "Certainly,  Joseph,  all  the  fixings." 
—  "Coffee,  tea,  no?"  — "Yes,  both,  and  hurry  it 
up,  for  we  are  getting  hungry." 

While  Joe  is  getting  breakfast,  we  get  out  our 
fishing-tackle,  select  our  flies,  joint  our  rods,  and 
make  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  day's  sport. 
I  would  not  be  positive  in  regard  to  the  cast  I  used 
that  day,  though,  as  my  journal  says  the  day  was 
cloudy,  I  should  judge  I  started  out  with  a  "  fiery 
brown  "  and  "  scarlet  ibis  :  "  the  former  is  a  fly  tied 
for  these  waters  by  John  McBride,  of  Mumford, 
Munroe  County,  N.Y. ;  and  I  wish  to  put  on  perpet- 
ual record,  or  as  near  to  it  as  type,  ink,  and  paper 
will  do  it,  that  he  ties  the  best  flies,  both  for  beauty 
and  strength,  of  any  one  in  the  country  —  perhaps 
Mr.  Whitney,  the  famous  guide  of  Upton,  excepted. 
If  I  had  had  his  flies  and  casting-line  when  I  struck 
that  six-pounder —  Well,  never  mind,  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  all  about  that  anon. 

Our  breakfast  was  a  hurried  one.  Joe  had  done 
himself  full  justice ;  he  most  always  does ;  but  we 
were  anxious  for  our  first  rise,  and  were  soon,  clam- 
bering down  over  the  piers,  seeking  the  favorite 
spots,  Mrs.  S.  seating  herself  above  us  to  share  our 
sport.  The  day  and  the  stage  of  water  were  both 
in  our  favor,  and  our  expectations  were  ranged  ac- 
cordingly. 


IN  CAMP.  39 

The  first  cast  I  made,  I  struck  the  top  log  of  a 
pier  with  my  tail-fly,  and,  while  I  was  gazing  at 
a  broken  tip,  had  the  supreme  satisfaction  of  seeing 
Charlie  net  a  two-pound  trout  a  short  distance 
from  me ;  but,  as  the  said  Charlie  had  always  in- 
sisted that  I  would  break  my  neck,  I  viewed  this 
slight  disaster  with  complacency.  Adjusting  a  new 
tip,  and  taking  a  better  survey  of  my  background, 
my  next  cast  was  more  successful,  and  before  my 
flies  had  hardly  touched  the  water,  a  trout  rose  to 
each  ;  I  struck  and  hooked  them  both  :  so  sudden 
and  unexpected  was  this  response  to  my  invitation, 
that  nothing  but  the  sharp  click  of  the  reel  brought 
me  to  my  senses.  Round  the  pool  in  a  circle  they 
dashed  like  a  pair  of  circus-horses ;  once,  twice, 
three  times,  did  they  follow  each  other,  swift  as  the 
wind,  in  the  same  pathway ;  then  for  a  moment,  as 
if  pausing  to  consider  the  situation,  they  halted, 
sank  to  the  bottom,  and  sulked.  "  Are  they  gone  ?  " 
echoed  a  voice  from  above.  "  Not  much,"  was  the 
reply,  as  I  wiped  a  little  tar  and  perspiration  from 
my  brow ;  "  merely  giving  us  both  a  breathing- 
spell."  Before  the  words  were  fairly  uttered,  they 
were  up  and  at  it  again.  For  full  fifteen  minutes  I 
played  those  two  trout :  they  were  beauties,  mettle- 
some and  gamey  as  one  could  wish ;  but  the  little 
seven-ounce  rod  was  too  much  for  them,  and  they 


40          FLY-FISHING   IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

at  last  "threw  up  the  sponge."  My  skilful  guide 
succeeded  in  netting  them  both :  they  weighed 
very  nearly  a  pound  and  a  half  each,  and  were 
splendid  fish. 

As  I  read  this  to  one  who,  "  as  a  looker-on  in 
Venice,"  had  shared  the  sport:  "True,  to  the 
life,"  said  she.  "And  to  the  death?"  I  ques- 
tioned. "  And  to  the  death.  I  remember  that  pair 
distinctly,  and  lively  ones  they  were."  Three  times 
that  morning  did  I  repeat  that  catch,  and  the  six 
trout  did  not  differ  in  weight  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  pound.  Charlie  was  equally  successful  in 
point  of  numbers,  but  did  not  have  quite  so  good 
luck  on  his  "  pairs."  We  cast  about  the  dam  until 
nearly  eleven,  when,  as  is  the  usual  custom,  we 
repaired  to  the  camp  to  enjoy  our  lunch.  This 
usually  consists  of  crackers  and  cheese,  an  olive  or 
two,  moistened  with  a  little  dram  of  "  suthin'  "  nice, 
all  of  which  comprise  a  part  of  the  stores  which  the 
fisherman  should  bring  with  him. 

"  Well,  old  Stevens,"  said  Charlie,  "  this  is  pretty 
good  sport.  Smashed  your  tip,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Should  say  so." 

"Bad?" 

"Not  very." 

"Show  me  the  pieces."  I  brought  them  in ;  and 
Charlie  got  out  his  tool-chest,  and  went  to  work 


IN  CAMP.  41 

repairing  it.  Not  being  a  very  bad  break,  and  the 
young  man  a  good  workman,  it  was  soon  put  in 
working  order  again.  I  used  to  think,  considering 
my  size,  that  I  was  pretty  careful  of  myself,  as  well 
as  my  rigging ;  but  Charlie  has  patched  up  rods  so 
many  times,  from  butt  to  tip,  and  picked  me  up 
from  among  stones  and  brush-wood  when  I  had 
lain  down  for  a  rest,  that  I  haven't  quite  that  con- 
fidence in  myself  that  I  was  wont  to  have.  There 
isn't  the  slightest  doubt  but  what,  if  that  individual 
could  be  prevailed  upon  to  free  his  mind  on  the 
subject,  he  would  tell  you  he  expected,  the  next 
time  we  whip  the  water  together,  he  will  have  the 
grim  satisfaction  of  getting  that  new  split  bamboo 
into  his  clutches  for  repairs.  But  I  have  some 
slight  revenge  on  the  youth  for  his  hilarious  scoffing 
at  what  he  calls  my  "  clumsiness  :  "  he  doesn't  eat 
olives,  turns  up  his  fastidious  nose  at  devilled  ham, 
can't  do  much  in  the  way  of  "schnapps;"  says 
it  affects  him  as  contradiction  did  Mrs.  Sternhold, 
it  "flies  to  the  head."  So  I  eat  and  drink  his 
share  of  these  accompaniments,  and  he  pays  for 
half;  but  let  him  alone  on  the  solids :  for  a  little 
fellow,  he  does  dispose  of —  Never  mind,  that's 
Joe's  lookout,  and,  if  he  can  keep  him  "  cooked 
up,"  I  don't  care. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Murray  ?"  said  Charlie, 


42          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

as  he  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  restored  tip, 
and  I  lay  on  the  leather  lounge,  smoking  my  pipe, 
and  watching  his  operations. 

"  In  regard  to  his  being  a  fisherman,  —  a  true 
sportsman,  you  mean,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  I  think  he's  a  humbug :  he  professes  to  know 
too  much  in  regard  to  too  many  things,  to  excel  in 
any  one.  I  don't  believe  he  could  have  mended 
that  tip  as  you  have ;  and  yet,  if  he  had  described 
the  '  how  to  do  it '  with  his  pen,  which  admitted  he 
handles  with  vigor,  you  would  have  thought  him 
a  perfect  adept  in  the  art  of  rod- making.  When  a 
professed  fisherman  tells  us  to  go  to  Read's  for  the 
best  rods,  and  recommends  a  rod  with  the  reel  eight 
inches  from,  instead  of  at,  the  butt ;  tells  you  that 
he  who  '  directs  a  ball,  or  hooks  a  fish,  out  of  mere 
sport,  is  deserving  of  fine  and  imprisonment,'  and 
then  shoots  deer  out  of  season,  fires  thirty  or  forty 
shots  at  a  poor  loon  for  the  mere  '  sport '  of  the  thing, 
and  leaves  dozens  of  trout  on  a  bank  to  rot,  —  I 
don't  propose  to  take  much  stock  in  him.  For- 
tunately, however,  he  doesn't  care  for  my  opinion, 
and,  I  reckon,  precious  little  for  any  one's  else. 
What's  your  sentiments?"  —  "Ditto."  —  "Ditto," 
from  the  other  one,  who  looks  up  from  her  book, 
evidently  quite  surprised  at  the  forcible  and  decided 


IN  CAMP.  43 

expression  of  opinion,  but  re-echoing  the  sentiment 
expressed.  And  if  we  judge  him  from  his  book, 
by  which  I  suppose  he  is  willing  to  be  judged  (waiv- 
ing some  of  his  yarns  which  he  does  not  expect  us 
to  believe),  ours  is  a  righteous  judgment. 

Having  disposed  of  this  subject  to  our  satisfac- 
tion, we  spend  the  time  between  lunch  and  dinner 
in  a  lounging,  lazy  sort  of  manner,  discussing  the 
merits  of  different  rod-makers,  variety  of  flies,  and 
such  like  fisherman's  talk,  occasionally  practising  al 
a  mark  with  our  pistols  and  rifles ;  after  dinner,  a 
smoke  and  a  snooze. 

At  about  four  o'clock  we  take  a  trip  to  the  cove 
for  our  afternoon  sport,  which,  if  exciting,  we  con- 
tinue until  sunset.  My  experience  has  been,  that 
more  trout  are  taken  between  nine  and  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  and  four  and  six  in  the 
afternoon,  than  at  any  other  time,  though  they 
often  rise  quite  lively  for  half  an  hour  before  sun- 
set. Early-morning  fishing,  with  me,  has  not  been 
a  success.  I  have  tried  it  more  times  than  I  pro- 
pose to  again.  Charlie  was  always  opposed  to  it 
on  principle.  "  Let  'em  rise,"  he  would  say  :  "  I 
won't ; "  and  he  don't,  till  breakfast  is  ready. 

If  the  sport  at  the  cove  is  tame,  we  return  at 
the  call  of  Joe's  horn,  and  take  a  six-o'clock  sup- 
per, and  cast  awhile  at  the  dam  till  darkness  begins 


44          FL  Y-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

to  fall ;  then  we  gather  about  the  smudge  at  the 
door  of  our  carap,  and  watch  the  blue  cloud  of 
smoke  as  it  floats  gracefully  upwards.  Now  is  the 
time  for  reflection ;  and  as  we  think  of  ourselves 
some  twenty  miles  or  more  away  from  any  human 
habitation,  excepting  a  few  like  our  own,  in  the 
depths  of  a  vast  wilderness  with  the  never-qeasing 
sound  of  rushing  water  falling  upon  our  ears,  we 
can  hardly  realize  the  bustle  and  commotion,  with 
all  its  attendant  incidents  of  joy  and  sorrow,  that  is 
hourly  transpiring  in  that  busy  centre  which  we 
have  left.  Aside  from  the  excitement  of  our  fish- 
ing we  have  little  to  disturb  that  perfectly  contented 
frame  of  mind  and  body  which  we  enjoy.  A  new 
arrival  or  a  stray  guide  with  a  bundle  of  correspond- 
ence from  Andover  makes  a  slight  ripple  upon  the 
tranquillity  of  our  daily  life.  We  spend  no  anxious 
thought  in  regard  to  change  of  apparel,  no  precious 
moments  are  wasted  in  unnecessary  ablutions  :  we 
have  no  time  to  devote  to  scandal  with  our  nearest 
neighbors,  no  bickering  with  servants. 

We  are  all  kings  and  queens  together.  'The 
guides  eat  at  the  same  table,  drink  from  the  same 
goblet  or  tin  cup,  as  circumstances  demand ;  and,  if 
on  a  tramp,  the  same  blanket  at  night  covers  their 
weary  limbs  and  ours. 

I  have  met  fishermen  here  from  my  own  city, 


IN  CAMP. 


45 


and  in  a  week's  stay  felt  as  if  they  had  been 
acquaintances  of  a  lifetime,  parted  from  them  to 
meet  only  again,  perhaps  one  or  maybe  two  years 
afterwards,  in  the  far-off  wilderness.  Yes,  we  re- 
turn again  to  active  life,  we  mingle  with  the  crowd, 
are  jostled  from  the  sidewalk,  or  from  the  world 
for  that  matter,  and  the  gap  is  filled :  it's  only 
"  somebody's  darling  that's  dead  and  gone." 
There's  this  difference  between  the  city  and  the 
country  :  the  latter  remembers  you  longer.  It  may 
be  for  good,  and  it  may  be  for  ill. 

But  we  are  getting  sentimental.   "  Frank,  smudge 
out  the  camp." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AN   UNFORTUNATE   DAY. 

UT  still  a  happy  one,  as  they  all 
were,  and  as  such  days  ever  will  be 
to  those  who  enjoy  the  sportsman's 
life  :  would  there  were  more  that  do  ! 
And  there  will  be  ;  for  I  believe,  as 
a  people  we  are  growing  more  and 
more  to  appreciate  this' recreation,  its  benefit  to  the 
health,  its  widening  of  our  sphere  of  vision.  Grad- 
ually will  our  business-men  be  attracted  more  to 
the  haunts  of  nature,  and  away  from  the  dissipations 
of  the  conventional  watering-places.  Also  the  field 
of  the  angler  and  the  hunter  will  be  enlarged,  the 
protection  and  propagation  of  fish  and  game  in 
streams  and  forests  will  do  much  to  encourage 
these  manly  sports,  fishing  will  be  found  nearer 
home,  and,  the  taste  once  cultivated,  more  distant 
waters  and  less  frequented  localities  will  be  sought 
46 


AN  UNFORTUNATE  DAY.  47 

after.  Fish  not  before  known  in  the  sportsman's 
vocabulary  as  game-fish  are  being  brought  into 
notice.  The  shad  which  throng  our  northern 
rivers,  it  has  been  found,  will  take  the  fly.  A  speci- 
men of  the  English  grayling,  one  of  the  gamiest  of 
the  finny  tribe,  has  been  recently  discovered  in  the 
Michigan  waters,  and  will  form  a  great  acquisition 
to  the  angler's  store ;  and  thus  the  supply  will  con- 
stantly increase  with  the  increasing  love  for  the 
sport. 

To  return,  however,  to  our  little  family  in  the 
woods.  For  the  first  few  days  our  sport  had  been 
excellent,  and  we  had  quite  a  goodly  family  of 
trout  in  our  several  cars  to  feast  the  eyes  and  the 
palates  of  our  friends  at  home.  But  the  past  day 
or  two  had  been  hot  and  cloudless,  and  no  allure- 
ments, in  the  way  of  diversified  casts,  would  tempt 
the  sportive  beauties  from  their  cool  retreats ;  so 
we  idled  away  the  time,  enjoying  nature  and  each 
other's  company.  As  I  was  leaning  over  the  rail 
of  the  bridge  that  crosses  the  dam,  enjoying  the 
play  of  the  waters  as  they  dashed  and  foamed  at 
my  feet,  I  saw  a  black  object  drop  from  where  I 
was  standing  into  the  rushing  stream  below.  It 
did  not  take  me  but  a  moment  to  recognize  my  fly- 
book,  which,  opening  as  it  fell,  scattered  a  well- 
selected  assortment  of  McBride's  best  flies  upon 


48          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

the  rushing  tide.  I  have  discarded  the  old  meth- 
od of  carrying  flies  in  a  book  in  which  you  are 
obliged  to  wind  the  snell  and  place  it  in  a  space 
in  the  leaf  prepared  for  the  purpose.  I  always 
keep  the  snell  perfectly  straight,  for  obvious  rea- 
sons ;  and  my  flies  were  thus  lying  loosely  in  my 
new  style  of  book,  which  resembles  an  old-fash- 
ioned long  leather  wallet.  I  am  particular  in  this 
description,  proposing  to  draw  slightly  upon  your 
imagination  in  what  follows.  I  knew  very  well 
what  Charlie  would  say  when  I  told  him  of  my 
misfortune  :  "  It's  a  great  wonder  that  you  did  not 
tumble  over  with  them,"  or  some  such  encouraging 
remark,  so  that  I  was  in  no  particular  hurry  to  make 
known  my  loss,  but  stood  gazing  at  the  white- 
crested  waves  over  which  they  were  being  borne 
to  the  somewhat  more  quiet  waters  farther  on.  As 
I  lingered  I  imagined  a  dozen  or  two  fine,  hand- 
some trout  lying  in  the  unfished  stream,  tempted 
by  the  unwonted  attraction,  rising  for  their  prey 
and  hooking  themselves  ;  and  how  they  would  look 
to  each  other  as  they  went  around,  comparing  notes 
with  six  inches  of  snell  hanging  from  their  mouths  : 
they  might  tickle  each  other's  noses  perhaps.  I 
had  really  begun  to  pity  the  poor  fellows,  when  the 
thought  of  it  brought  an  anecdote  to  my  mind 
which  I  had  come  across  somewhere,  and  I  laughed 


AN  UNFORTUNATE  DAY.  49 

outright.  Let  me  tell  it,  and,  if  my  readers  fail  to 
see  the  connecting-link,  study  Darwin,  for  my  little 
incident  relates  to  a  "  tale."  A  superintendent  of 
a  certain  Sunday  school,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
"  Hub,"  was  speaking  to  the  scholars,  at  the  close 
of  the  exercises,  of  the  lesson  for  the  day,  which 
was  the  story  of  the  Israelites'  making  brick  with 
straw.  As  he  came  to  the  oppression  of  Pharaoh, 
in  demanding  the  same  tale  of  bricks  when  no 
straw  was  supplied  as  before,  he  asked  the  question 
of  the  scholars,  "What  is  meant  by  the  tale  of 
bricks?  "  At  once  a  bright  little  fellow  held  up  his 
hand,  and  answered,  "A  piece  of  straw  sticking 
out  of  the  end  of  a  brick." 

Returning  to  camp,  I  told  the  story  of  my  loss ; 
as  was  expected,  only  smiles  and  ridicule  for  my 
carelessness  from  those  to  whom  I  naturally  should 
have  looked  for  sympathy.  Our  guides  only, 
showed  sorrow  for  my  misfortune,  and  would  have 
swam  the  stream  in  undress-uniform  had  there 
been  a  forlorn  hope  of  a  recovery.  Later,  however, 
Charlie  came  round,  and  compromised  the  matter 
by  offering  me  the  use  of  his  fly-book.  Not  hav- 
ing had  any  luck  himself  during  the  day,  he  de- 
clined going  to  Trout  Cove  in  the  afternoon ;  but 
as  towards  sundown  a  little  breeze  sprang  up,  I  de- 
termined to  try  it  again,  as  the  time  for  our  leaving 
camp  was  fast  approaching. 


50          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  prospect?"  I  asked 
my  guide,  as  we  trudged  along  over  the  familiar 
path. 

"It's  my  notion  that  they'll  rise  to-night:  the 
wind's  got  round  to  the  south'ard,  and  there'll  be 

just  a  good  ripple.  I'm  thinking  Mr.  B will 

wish't  he'd  come  along." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  whistle  to  keep 
my  courage  up  ?  Still  the  trout  are  there,  and  they 
must  be  getting  hungry." 

"'Well,  it  won't  take  us  long  to  find  out,  Mr. 
Stevens  :  "  this  last  remark  was  made  as  he  pushed 
the  boat  off  from  her  moorings,  and  sprang  into 
her. 

Our  fishing-grounds  were  but  a  few  minutes'  pull 
from  the  shore,  and  we  were  soon  at  anchor  and 
ready  to  receive  visitors. 

I  had  changed  my  casts  several  times  during  the 
day,  and  now  had  a  casting-line  with  a  couple  of 
nondescript  flies,  which  I  had  found  in  my  old 
book  as  it  was  left  from  the  year  before. 

"There's  a  swirl,"  said  Cutting,  as  he  points  over 
my  left  shoulder :  "  and  there's  another,  and  no 
fool  of  a  fish." 

"  Hadn't  we  better  get  to  work?  " 

Things  looked  a  little  encouraging,  to  say  the 
least.  "  Ah,  there's  another  !  "  —  "  Yes,  and  we'll 


AN  UN  FOR  TUNA  TE  DAY.  51 

send  him  an  invitation."  I  cast  quite  near  to 
where  he  rose,  and  he  responded  immediately :  I 
struck  and  hooked  him,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 
was  safely  netted.  The  next  cast,  and  two  rose, 
one  of  which  was  lost,  the  other  weighed  quite  two 
pounds. 

We  had  not  been  on  the  grounds  more  than  ten 
minutes  before  the  cove  all  around  us  was  literally 
alive  with  trout,  and  in  twenty  minutes  I  had  half 
as  many  trout,  alive,  in  the  well-room  of  the  boat. 

"  Well,  this  keeps  us  pretty  busy  :  what  a  pity  Mr. 
B didn't  come  along  !  " 

"  That's  so,  but  we  haven't  got  time  to  go  for 
him  :  the  sun's  not  more  than  half  an  hour  high." 
This  slight  conversation  occurred  while  I  was  put- 
ting on  a  couple  of  fresh  flies,  for  by  this  time  the 
old  ones  had  got  to  looking  a  little  frayed.  Not 
more  than  twenty-five  feet  of  line  had  I  got  out 
before  a  parting  of  the  waters,  a  rush,  and  a  most 
noble  fish  broke  the  water,  taking  my  tail-fly  as  he 
went  down.  He  hooked  himself  firmly,  down 
went  the  butt,  and  down  went  Sir  Trout  to  the  bot- 
tom, taking  but  a  few  yards  of  line  from  my  reel. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  said  I,  turning  to 
my  guide,  who  sat  complacently  smoking  his  pipe. 

"  I  think  you  have  got  all  you  want  to  attend  to 
for  the  next  half-hour:  that  fish  will  weigh  six 
pounds  if  he  weighs  an  ounce." 


52          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

I  knew  he  was  an  old  hero,  but  I  hardly  thought 
him  so  large  as  that.  After  calmly  surveying  the 
situation  I  tapped  the  butt  of  my  rod  with  my  ringer, 
and  he  quickly  responded  with  a  whirl  of  the  reel ; 
at  least  seventy  feet  of  line  did  he  take  before  com- 
ing to  a  halt ;  then  he  turned,  and  came  towards  us, 
I  gathering  in  the  slack  as  fast  as  possible  ;  fortu- 
nately he  was  so  well  hooked  that  I  felt  safe  :  now 
he  took  several  swift  turns  around  the  boat  within 
twenty  feet  of  us,  then  off  again  with  at  least 
eighty  before  I  dared  check  him.  This  amusement 
on  his  part  was  kept  up,  as  my  guide  suggested  it 
might  be,  for  just  about  half  an  hour ;  when  as  the 
sun  had  sunk  behind  the  hills,  and  darkness  was 
coming  on,  I  began  to  feel  slightly  nervous,  and  a 
strong  desire  to  see  my  fish  safely  landed ;  and  to 
this  intent  I  cautioned  my  guide  to  be  ready  with 
the  net,  as  he  seemed  now  disposed  to  come  to 
terms,  and  indeed  allowed  me  to  reel  him  in  in  a 
very  quiet  and  sensible  manner.  "  Now,  then,  stand 
ready  with  your  net,"  and  the  sure-handed,  quick- 
sighted  one  who  scarce  ever  lost  me  a  fish  stood 
ready  for  his  work  —  when,  with  a  plunge  and  a 
rush,  my  anticipated  trophy  broke  the  water,  turned 
over  on  its  surface,  snapped  the  casting-line,  and 
disappeared  beneath  the  calm  waters  of  Trout  Cove. 
I  sat  down  upon  the  thwart  of  the  boat,  and  my 


AN  UNFORTUNATE  DAY.  53 

guide  did  the  same,  facing  each  other.  For  nearly 
five  minutes  —  no?  well,  say  three  —  not  a  word 
was  spoken.  The  first  to  break  the  silence  was 
Cutting,  and  in  these  words :  "  Mr.  Stevens,  I'd 
given  three  days'  pay  rather  than  had  you  lose 
that  trout :  he  was  over  six  pounds  "  — 

"  Charles,  I  would  have  doubled  your  pay  rather 
than  to  have  lost  him.  So  much  for  using  a  last- 
year's  leader." 

Don't  do  it,  my  young  friends,  or  old  friends. 
You  may  never  have  the  occasion  to  regret  doing 
so,  as  I  did  that  evening,  and  you  may  save  a  six- 
pounder  by  not  doing  so.  It  might,  you  say,  have 
been  something  else  if  not  that :  true,  but  I  doubt 
it,  for  my  fish  was  well  hooked,  and  my  guide  cool 
and  collected,  and  nothing  but  a  weak  casting-line 
cost  me  that  fish.  I  purchase  my  flies  and  leaders 
nowadays  almost  exclusively,  the  latter  always,  of 
McBride,  before  mentioned.  I  like  to  write  the 
old  gentleman's  name  (he  is  gone  now,  and  his 
daughter  succeeds  him  in  the  business)  :  I  never 
saw  him,  but  I  know  he  was  an  honest  man,  and  I 
believe  he  loved  the  work  he  was  engaged  in ;  at  all 
events,  he  did  it  well,  and  when  once  he  had  pro- 
vided you  with  an  outfit  of  these  articles,  to  use  a 
vulgar  expression,  you  will  never  "  go  back  "  on 
him  any  more  than  they  in  some  trying  situation 


54          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

will  go  back  on  you.  (A  little  digression  induced 
by  the  remembrance  of  after-reflection  and  blasted 
hones.) 

"  Well,  Cutting,  that's  the  end  of  to-night's  sport. 
Up  anchor,  and  let's  go  home." 

Not  much  conversation  on  the  road  that  night. 
Oh,  laugh  if  you  will,  stoic  !  call  it  silly  to  mourn 
over  the  loss  of  a  single  fish,  were  he  the  very  levi- 
athan of  the  deep.  But  discard  for  a  few  years 
your  city  pleasures,  and  go  a-fishing,  pit  your  lightest 
tackle  and  your  best  intelligence  against  this  wary, 
gamy  fish;  and  when,  after  becoming  a  lover  of 
this  healthful  sport,  you  lose  the  largest  trout  you 
ever  saw,  you  may  perhaps  indulge  in  the  feelings 
we  shared  on  our  homeward  tramp. 

The  smell  of  Joe's  cooking,  the  welcome  of  the 
waiting  ones,  and  the  rehearsal  of  the  exciting 
strife,  soon  restored  the  accustomed  frame  of  mind, 
a  happy  one  ;  and  by  the  time  that  supper  was  ready 
the  disappointment  of  the  day  was  nearly  forgotten 
in  the  anticipations  of  the  morrow,  —  the  morrow 
which  was  to  be  our  last  day  in  camp,  and  on  the 
result  of  which  high  hopes  were  builded. 

" Don't  you  wish  you  had  gone  along,  Charlie?  " 
"Yes,  stupid  :  why  didn't  you  drag  me? " 
"  Oh,  yes  !  keep  on  stuffing  at  this  rate,  and  you 
will  want  *  Old  Brownie '  and  the  buggy  to  take 
you  over  to  the  cove." 


AN  UNFORTUNATE  DAY. 


55 


"  Do  you  think  he  would  weigh  six  pounds, 
Stevens?" 

"  Do  I  ?  If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  Cutting." 
And  he  did,  and  Cutting  said,  "Yes,  more." 


~~^r3=r~, -^ 


CHAPTER  V. 


GOOD-BY,    JOE. 

UR  last  day  in  camp,  and  we  had 
returned  the  preceding  night  with 
ardent  hopes  of  a  good  day's  sport, 
so  much  so,  that  for  a  wonder  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  found  the 
three  Charlies  and  the  one  "Frank" 
young  man  on  their  way  to  Trout  Cove,  —  one  of 
the  Charlies  already  lamenting  his  share  of  the 
morning  walk,  and  with  all  his  love  of  the  sport, 
which  is  great,  wishing  himself  back  again  between 
his  blankets. 

"  I  tell  you  it's  no  use,  Stevens  :  trout  ain't  such 
fools  as  to  get  up  before  breakfast." 

"  Oh  !  then  you  think  they  take  their  early  food 
as  Hood  says  Thomson  wrote  about  early  rising, 
—  lying  in  their  beds." 

"  Well,  what's  the  use  encouraging  them  in  such 
56 


GOOD-BY,  JOE.  57 

bad  habits?  You  know  the  old  story  about  the 
worm  :  if  he  hadn't  been  out,  he  wouldn't  have 
been  caught." 

"  True  enough,  nor  the  bird  have  had  his  break- 
fast." 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Charlie,  that  Nature 
in  the  abundant  disposal  of  her  gifts,  and  in  her 
ample  provisions  for  the  lower  orders,  had  so  organ- 
ized and  perfected  her  plans  as  to  —  as  to  —  to  "  — 

"  No,  I  never  did ;  that  is,  hardly.  Ask  me  an 
easier  one  ;  reserve,  my  boy,  such  an  abundant  flow 
of  natural  eloquence  till  after  breakfast,  do :  a 
vacancy  exists  here,  which  even  that  half  a  cracker 
failed  to  fill,  and  I  fear  to  dwell  long  upon  so  ab- 
struse a  subject.  Pass  the  tar,  please  :  the  flies  are 
up  early,  at  all  events." 

"The  flies,  Charlie,  —  these,  now,  are  another 
illustration,  and  show  the  wisdom  of"  — 

"  Bringing  along  the  tar?  " 

And  thus  did  the  disturbed  elements  in  the 
young  man's  frame  show  themselves  as  we  trudged 
along  over  the  well-trod  road  to  the  cove. 

"There,  that's  the  last  time  I  ever  cast  a  fly 
before  breakfast,"  was  the  next  remark  I  heard  from 
those  amiable  lips,  as  about  an  hour  afterwards, 
after  superhuman  efforts  to  get  a  rise,  he  reeled  up 
his  line,  and  thus  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a 


58          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

somewhat  tragic  manner :  "  I  knew  just  how  it 
would  be,  and  why  didn't  I  know  enough  to  lie 
abed?'* 

"Pity  we  hadn't;  but  we  have  gained  some 
experience,"  said  I,  as  I  reeled  up  for  a  start. 

And  so  after  all  the  success  of  the  evening 
before,  on  the  same  spot,  an  hour's  faithful  fishing 
had  failed  to  reward  us  with  a  single  rise.  Truly 
the  ways  of  the  trout  are  past  finding  out,  but  the 
fact  is  potent  to  every  sportsman  that  sometimes 
you  can  and  sometimes  you  can't.  But  we  had  a 
good  appetite  for  Joe's  "  fried  feesh  "  and  griddle- 
cakes  ;  and,  always  determining  to  make  the  best  of 
every  thing,  we  exploded  a  little  in  vain  ejacula- 
tions, and  then  went  to  breakfast. 

Now,  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  foregoing  classic 
and  sage  remark,  that  "  sometimes  you  can,"  etc. 
After  satisfying  the  demands  of  hunger,  and  chatting 
for  awhile  over  our  pipes,  we  again  set  out  for  Trout 
Cove ;  and  this  time  we  did  not  return  until  about 
forty  beautiful  fish,  after  having  given  us  all  the 
sport  that  heart  could  wish,  had  joined  a  large 
number  of  their  captured  companions,  and  were 
listening  in  the  confines  of  our  cars  to  their  tale  of 
captivity. 

It  was  on  the  last  day  of  our  camp-life  that  poor 
Joe  was  destined  to  receive  a  surprise  that  almost 


GOOD-BY,  JOE.  59 

overcame  his  natural  serenity,  and  threw  him  into 
the  depths  of  profound  amazement.  In  looking 
over  our  remaining  stores,  which  we  had  taken  to 
camp,  Mrs.  S.  found  a  couple  of  cans  of  corn, 
which  somehow  had  been  overlooked,  and  sent 
them  in  to  Joe,  by  one  of  the  guides,  with  the  re- 
quest to  have  them  for  dinner.  Now,  Joe,  although 
a  good  cook,  and,  as  we  already  know,  possessed 
of  other  valuable  characteristics,  had  in  youth  re- 
ceived no  book-education,  and  could  neither  read 
nor  write ;  and  though  he  knew  the  contents  of  a 
can  of  tomatoes,  by  the  picture  of  the  fruit  on  the 
outside,  he  was  in  profound  ignorance  of  the  con- 
tents of  these.  So  in  he  came  to  madam  to  ask 
for  an  explanation  :  but  somehow  the  poor  fellow's 
brain  was  muddled,  and  we  couldn't  make  him 
understand  the  contents;  so  we  appealed  to  one 
of  his  remaining  senses,  his  eyesight,  and  opened 
the  cans  for  him.  The  consternation  depicted  on 
his  countenance  must  have  been  seen  to  be  appre- 
ciated; he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
and  this  exclamation  burst  from  his  lips :  "  Mrs. 
Steven,  my  God,  it  is  corn ! "  Corn  on  the 
ear,  and  corn  in  a  can,  were,  to  his  uneducated 
mind,  as  widely  separated  as  a  corn  on  the  foot 
from  acorn  on  the  oak. 

I  have  just  learned  that  Joe  has  left  the  camp. 


60          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

gone  forever,  unless  he  goes  back  as  a  visitor  to  the 
secluded  spot  where  he  has  spent  so  many  years 
of  his  life.  And  though  many,  perhaps,  who  peruse 
these  pages,  may  only  have  known  him  in  these 
simple  sketches,  those  who  have  will  look  back 
upon  his  stewardship  with  a  partial  feeling  of  re- 
gret that  in  future  his  gray  hairs  will  be  missed, 
and  his  peculiar  speech  heard  no  more.  Good-by, 
Joe  !  may  your  declining  years  be  made  happy ;  if 
not  in  the  companionship  of  loved  ones,  at  least  in 
the  thought  that  you  have  made  others  happy,  and 
done  the  best,  in  your  simple  way,  to  improve  the 
few  talents  committed  to  your  care. 

It  was  a  hot  day,  this  last  in  camp,  for  even  in 
the  far-off  mountain  regions  does  the  sun  proclaim 
his  mastery ;  and  so  after  dinner  we  had  no  dispo- 
sition to  interview  his  sunship's  burning  glances, 
but  preferred  the  shadow  of  the  camp,  with  its  cool- 
ing draughts,  to  the  shining  surface  of  the  cove  or 
stream.  Mrs.  S.  was  lazily  perusing  the  last  pages 
of  "Put  Yourself  in  his  Place,1'  too  immensely 
satisfied,  however,  with  her  easy  rocking-chair,  to 
think  of  doing  so.  Charlie  was  lying  at  full  length, 
upon  the  lounge,  his  hands  clasped  above  his  head, 
his  eyes  gazing  from  his  tarry  countenance  into  the 
starry  realms  above.  I  was  making  myself  as  com- 
fortable as  three  chairs,  a  sofa-pillow,  and  a  bowl 


GOOD-BY,  JOE.  6l 

of  natural  leaf,  with  a  cherry-stem  attachment, 
could  make  me  :  when  suddenly  my  reveries  were 
slightly  disturbed,  and  the  book  fell  from  the  mad- 
am's hands,  as  Charlie  repeated  the  question,  wh;ch 
he  at  first  pronounced  as  if  thinking  aloud,  — 

"Do  you  expect  to  die  a  natural  death?" 

Now,  of  all  subjects  in  the  range  of  my  thoughts, 
this  was  about  the  farthest  removed ;  and,  though 
in  some  situations  this  was  a  question  which  might 
very  naturally  have  been  asked,  it  fell  like  a  thun- 
derbolt in  our  midst ;  and  I,  recovering  my  wan- 
dering senses,  Yankee-like,  answered  his  question 
by  asking  another  :  "  Why  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  thinking  :  travelling  as  much  as  you 
do,  and  tumbling  about  as  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
doing,  that  it  would  be  a  wonder  if  you  should  not 
some  day  break  your  neck,  run  off  the  track,  or 
drown  yourself." 

"Thank  you  for  such  interesting  reflections  in 
regard  to  my  earthly  exit.  As  for  the  latter,  I  don't 
believe  that  fate  is  ordained  for  me,  as  three  times 
I  have  been  overboard,  and  once'remained  so  long 
in  the  water  that  those  most  interested  in  my  fu- 
ture existence  had  about  given  me  up.  The  old 
adage,  '  A  man  that's  born  to  be,'  £c.,  you  know ; 
and,  as  for  a  sudden  death  not  being  a  natural 
death,  in  a  great  many  cases  of  course  it  is,  and 


62          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

much  more  to  be  desired,  according  to  my  way  of 
thinking,  than  a  lingering,  hopeless  decay." 

"  Well,  I  agree  with  you  fully  as  to  that ;  but  seri- 
ously, in  all  your  travels  have  you  not  been  in  some 
trying  situation,  where  you  felt  for  a  longer  or 
shorter  time  your  life  was  actually  in  danger?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !   several  times." 

"  What  was  the  most  fearful,  the  one  where  you 
suffered  the  most  in  the  shortest  time? " 

"As  to  that,  I  don't  think  I  feared  or  suffered 
much  in  either  case,  —  certainly  no  physical  suffer- 
ing, and  scarcely  any  mental;  but  I  have  often 
looked  back  to  one  rash  incident  of  my  life  as 
being,  as  well  as  perhaps  very  foolish,  very  danger- 
ous, and  in  which  for  a  few  minutes  I  felt  my  life 
hung  in  the  balances." 

"What  was  that?" 

"You  have  been  to  Quebec?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  Falls  of  Montmorency?  " 

"I  have.  I  believe  they  are  a  hundred  feet 
higher  than  Niagara." 

"Nearly." 

"You  didn't  imitate  the  illustrious  Sam  Patch, 
and  jump  them,  did  you?  " 

"Not  exactly,  but  1  slid  down  them  in  winter." 

"That's  a  cool  statement :  explain  yourself." 


GOOD-BY,  JOE.  63 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  famous  ice-cone  that  is 
formed  at  the  foot  of  the  fall  in  winter,  by  the 
spray  freezing  upon  the  rocks,  until  it  reaches  nearly 
the  base  of  the  cataract,  and  forms  almost  a  sugar- 
loaf  in  appearance,  and  about  two  hundred  feet  in 
height?" 

"  Yes,  I  saw  a  picture  of  it  at  the  Russell  House, 
last  summer." 

"  Well,  I  slid  down  that  cone  once  on  an  Indian 
'tarbogan,'  a  sort  of  double-ended  sled;  and  I 
think,  for  rapid  locomotion  and  dangerous  situa- 
tions, that  you  could  give  points  to  the  most  daring 
aeronaut  that  ever  sought  the  eastern  current 
through  the  boundless  immensity  of  space." 

"  How  did  you  get  to  the  top  ?  " 

"  By  steps  cut  in  the  solid  ice,  and  I  think  now 
that  I  should  go  up  a  good  many  times  rather  than 
slide  down  once.  There  were  several  in  our  party ; 
and  we  were  bantering  each  other  in  regard  to  tak- 
ing the  slide,  when,  being  younger  and  rather  more 
reckless  than  the  rest  of  the  party,  I  determined  to 
make  the  descent. 

"  Seating  myself  behind  the  Indian,  and  grasping 
him  about  the  middle,  my  legs  clasping  his  firmly, 
we  started.  Yes,  I  am  quite  sure  we  started,  and 
I  am  just  as  sure  that  a  moment  afterward  I  wished 
we  hadn't.  I  said  we  slid,  better,  that  we  flew,  for 


64          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

we  dashed  down  at  the  rate  of  seventy  miles  an 
hour ;  breathing  was  out  of  the  question,  and  think- 
ing almost.  But  once  started,  nothing  was  to  be 
done,  but,  Davy  Crockett  like,  '  go  ahead ; '  and  go 
ahead  we  did  till,  in  a  much  less  time  than  I  have 
been  describing  it,  we  were  far  out  upon  the  ic*y 
surface  of  the  St.  Lawrence." 

"  And  you  didn't  try  it  again,  I  imagine." 

"  Not  much.  It  was  dangerous  sport.  As  one 
of  the  party  said,  '  I  wouldn't  mind  sliding  down 
the  roof  of  a  house,  but  from  the  eaves  to  the 
ground  —  excuse  me.'  " 

"So  you  think  that  was  the  most  dangerous 
incident  of  your  life? " 

"  So  far  as  I  am  able  to  be  the  judge,  I  most  cer- 
tainly do  ;  for  the  slightest  break  or  mismanagement 
on  the  part  of  the.  guide  would  have  certainly  cost 
a  limb,  most  likely  a  life." 

"Well,  from  my  recollection  of  the  picture,  I 
should  class  such  an  undertaking  '  extra  hazard- 
ous.' " 

"  Positively,  I  never  have  looked  at  that  picture 
since,  without  a  shudder,  and  a  wonder  that  I 
should  have  done  what  so  few  attempt." 

"Really,  old  fellow,  I  didn't  think  my  abrupt 
remark  would  have  drawn  out  so  long  a  story." 

"  No  :  I  suppose,  if  you  had,  you  scarce  would 
have  made  it  ?  " 


GOOD-BY,  JOE.  65 

"Perhaps." 

"  Charlie,  did  you  ever  see  a  spook  ?  " 

"A  what?" 

"A  spook,  ghost." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  a  ghost  —  of  a  chance." 

"  No  ;  but  sincerely,  did  you  ever  see  a  bona-fide 
ghost?" 

"  Not  much." 

"  I  have  :  shall  I  tell  you  about  it  ? 

"  No,  excuse  me  :  I  fear  I  should  only  detect 
symptoms  of  a  disordered  stomach." 

"  You  may  laugh  :  a  poor  argument  that,  against 
ten  senses." 

11  Ten  ?  I  thought  we  had  but  five." 

"  True  enough,  but  she  saw  it  too.  Fact,  Char- 
lie." 

"  Well,  I  don't  quite  see  the  ten  yet.  You  didn't 
smell  or  taste  his  ghostship,  did  you?" 

"  No,  we  did  not :  you  have  me  there ;  but  we 
both  heard,  saw,  and  felt  it;  and  you  could  no 
more  convince  either  of  us  that  it  was  not  a  verit- 
able spirit  than  that  we  are  not  now  at  Upper 
Dam  Camp." 

"  Well,  let's  have  it." 

"  No,  not  to-day :  perhaps  some  time  we'll  tell 
you  all  about  it,  when  that  time  comes,  as  it  some 
time  will,  when  more  will  believe  that  there  are 


66          PL  Y-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

such  sights  to  be  seen ;  when  all  will  be  more  ready 
to  admit  that  there  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth  than  are  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy." 

"  Shakspeare,  hem  !  as  Dr.  Pangloss  would  say." 

"  Yes,  the  immortal  bard,  as  I  think  I  once  heard 
him  called.  By  the  way,  Charlie,  what  character  of 
his  resembles  a  cart-rut?  " 

"  Give  it  up." 

"  Pericles." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he's  the  Prince  of  Tyre." 

"Oh  !  take  something,  won't  you?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you." 

"  I  have  a  conundrum,  boys,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  who 
had  been,  up  to  this  time,  a  very  patient  listener, 
having  put  "  Put  Yourself  in  his  Place  "  in  a  safe 
place,  and  devoted  herself  to  the  present  company. 
"Shall  I  ask  it?" 

"  Certainly  !  "  from  both  of  us. 

"  It's  original." 

"  Oh,  then  it  must  be  good  !  "  again  from  both 
of  us. 

"Why  was  Jeff  Davis,  when  he  was  captured, 
like  Bunker-hill  Monument?" 

"When  did  you  originate  that?" 

"  Never  mind  :  can  you  guess?  " 

"Jeff  Davis  like  Bunker-hill  Monument"  — 


GOOD-BY,  JOE.  67 

"Yes,  when  he  was  captured." 

"  Because  he  —  no,  he  wasn't,  that's  a  fact.  Why 
was  Jeff  Davis  —  Oh,  let's  give  it  up,  Charlie  !  " 

"  I'm  willing." 

"  Well,  we  give  it  up." 

"  That's  as  far  as  I  have  got :  I  haven't  made  an 
answer  yet.  So  far,  I  think  it's  pretty  good  ;  don't 
you?" 

"Y-e-s,  r-a-t-h-e-r.  —  Charles,  isn't  it  about  time 
to  try  the  pool?" 

"I  was  just  thinking  so,  myself.  Excuse  me, 
Mrs.  Stevens:  'Why  was  Jeff  ?'  — <  Walker  '"- 
and  we  left  the  madam  to  her  august  reflections. 

The  pool,  or  rather  the  trout  which  were  sup- 
posed to  be  in  it,  were  as  lazy  as  we  had  been,  and 
refused  all  endeavors  on  our  part  to  come  to  the 
surface.  After  a  variety  of  flies  Charlie  proposed 
a  yeast-cake,  thought  that  might  make  them  rise. 
I  responded  by  suggesting  a  volume  of  "  Young's 
Night  Thoughts,"  thinking  that  might  possibly  turn 
their  thoughts  upwards  :  but  suggesting  and  acting 
were  all  to  no  purpose ;  like  a  lazy  schoolboy  they 
were  determined  not  to  rise,  and  they  didn't. 

It  wasn't  just  pleasant  to  be  obliged  to  give  it  up 
so  on  the  last  day,  but  there  was  no  alternative  ;  so  it 
was  reel  up,  and  leave  them  to  the  next  comers.  I 
do  think,  for  a  moment,  that  Charlie  felt  like  going 


68          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

back  to  first  principles,  and  worming  out  a  few  from 
his  once  (for  this  pot-hunting  performance)  favorite 
pier.  But  his  truer  sporting  feelings  predominated ; 
and  we  were  content  to  talk  about  past  victories, 
and  look  forward  to  a  season  yet  to  come  when  we 
should  return  to  our  favorite  haunts,  and  again 
listen  to  the  rushing  roar  of  Royal  River,  as  it 
foams,  eddies,  and  sparkles  amid  its  leaf-fringed 
banks  in  its  short  yet  most  beautiful  and  pictur- 
esque windings  to  the  majestic  lake  which  receives 
it. 

And  this  evening  we  linger  long  and  lovingly 
upon  the  most  favored  spots,  where  we  can  drink 
in  the  full  glories  of  the  sunset  hour,  for  we  feel 
that  when  we  retrace  our  steps  to  camp,  packing 
tip  is  next  in  order ;  and  though  we  ought  to  be, 
and  no  doubt  are,  thankful  for  the  pleasant  homes 
to  which  we  may  return,  yet  there  is  not  quite  so 
much  anticipation  or  enthusiasm  in  packing  up  to 
return  to  them,  as  after  they  have  nurtured  and 
sheltered  us  for  nearly  a  year  we  are  willing  to  leave 
them  without  the  faintest  suspicion  of  regret. 

Here  is  a  splendid  opportunity  to  moralize,  and 
wind  up  my  chapter  on  the  beauties  of  home,  the 
necessity  of  recreation,  etc. ;  but  as  my  moral- 
"  Liza  "  is  averse  to  being  flattered,  and  there  are 
some  poor  forlorn  bachelors  among  my  friends, 


GOOD-BY, 


69 


tvho  may  read  these  sketches,  and  wish  they  had 
when  they  could  as  well  as  not,  we  will  skip  all 
reflections  of  this  nature,  and,  bidding  you  good- 
night, call  you  early  in  the  morning  to  witness  our 
preparations  for  departure. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DEPARTURE. 

HE  next  morning  we  arose  early; 
but  our  guides  had  been  up  hours 
before  us,  and  the  long  row  of 
beautiful  trout,  spread  upon  the 
grass  preparatory  to  packing  for 
friends  at  home,  greeted  our  admiring  eyes  as  we 
saluted  the  morning  air. 

Various  are  the  methods  of  packing  trout  for 
transportation.  I  clean  mine,  and  pack  them  in 
moss  which  has  been  thoroughly  dried  in  the  sun, 
placing  a  goodly  quantity  of  ice  at  the  top  and  bot- 
tom of  the  box,  but  none  in  close  proximity  to  the 
fish.  Except  in  extremely  hot  weather,  I  have 
found  that  trout  packed  in  this  manner  reach  Bos- 
ton in  very  fine  order,  and  have  quite  a  trouty 
taste  and  appearance ;  but  —  and  it's  a  long  but 
—  if  one  wishes  to  know  the  true  taste  and  flavor 
70 


DEPARTURE.  71 

of  the  trout,  they  must  go  to  them :  the  transport 
of  eating  is  lessened  by  transportation,  and  their 
radiant  spots  must  be  seen  on  the  spot.  This 
many  of  you  well  know :  and  those  among  my 
readers  who  do  not,  will,  I  hope,  take  the  first 
opportunity  of  proving  it  themselves ;  they,  also, 
will  be  improved  thereby. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  go,  Miss  Stevens  :  you  have  egg, 
boil,  ten  minutes ;  you  have  ham,  cold,  for  lunch, 
yes,"  was  Joe's  salutation,  as  we  sat  down  to  break- 
fast. 

"  Plenty  men,  my  God  !  few  women,"  contin- 
ued Joe,  without  waiting  for  a  reply  from  the  mad- 
am, who  was  unconsciously  blushing  at  so  flattering 
a  farewell,  but  who  at  "last  sufficiently  recovered  to 
thank  Joe  for  his  compliment. 

A  regretful  feeling,  on  the  part  of  us  all,  that  this 
is  our  parting  meal,  renders  us  less  enthusiastic  over 
the  freshly-killed  trout,  which  Joe  has  cooked  with 
unusual  care,  and  we  eat  like  those  who  go,  rather 
than  those  who  come ;  but  we  shall  soon  regain 
our  appetites,  for  a  pleasant  journey  is  before  us. 

Our  traps,  already  packed,  are  hoisted  upon  the 
backs  of  our  ever-willing  guides ;  and  we  are  gath- 
ering our  lighter  articles  to  follow  with  them  to  the 
landing.  It  is  a  glorious  morning,  and  the  wind  is 
fair  :  as  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time,  we  stop  on  oui 


72  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES, 

way  at  Whitney's  Camp,  where  we  pass  the  compli- 
ments of  the  day  with  brother  Cole,  whom  we  find 
sole  occupant  of  this  delightful  retreat. 

Here  we  are  again,  just  entering  the  narrows ; 
and,  true  to  Charlie  Cutting's  prophecy,  we  have  a 
head-wind  at  first,  and  shortly  none  at  all :  the 
sail  flaps  idly  against  the  mast,  and  the  boys  fill 
their  pipes  preparatory  to  a  practical  lesson  on  the 
enlargement  of  muscle. 

While  they  row  along  leisurely,  as  usual,  we 
amuse  ourselves  by  waking  the  echoes  of  the  dis- 
tant hills,  or  chaffing  each  other  on  various  events 
that  have  transpired  during  our  pleasant  sojourn 
among  the  hills.  Soon  the  narrows  are  passed ; 
and  a  famous  spurt,  which  would  do  credit  to  a 
college  crew,  and  reminding  us  of  Tom  Moore's 
pretty  little  song,  — 

"  Row,  brothers,  row  !  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's  past,"  — 

brings  us,  in  quite  a  lively  manner,  upon  the  wa- 
ters of  the  lower  lake.  Now  a  fine  breeze  springs 
up,  and  once  more  we  hoist  our  sail  to  its  speed- 
ing influence.  A  short  hour  and  a  half  brings  us 
to  the  arm  of  the  lake,  where  ten  days  ago  we 
bade  good-by  to  Uncle  John  Merrill,  and  where  we 
are  to-day  to  meet  him  and  his  comfortable  buck- 
board. 


DEPARTURE.  73 

We  have  just  time  to  build  a  fire,  for  Charlie  and 
the  madam  would  die  if  they  couldn't  have  their 
cup  of  tea,  when  we  hear  a  crackling  of  the  bushes, 
and  a  trampling  of  feet ;  and  the  old  black  mare, 
her  tail  revolving  like  a  windmill,  in  vain  attempts 
to  switch  off  the  flies,  followed  by  Uncle  John's 
smiling  face  and  white  beard,  emerges  from  a  wil- 
derness of  leaves. 

"Well,  boys,  what  luck?"  was  John's  first  salu- 
tation, as  with  the  back  of  his  hand  he  brushed 
the  perspiration,  and  a  few  black  flies,  from  his 
forehead. 

"  Splendid." 

"Capital." 

"Lovely," — was  the  quick  response  from  the 
united  voices  (I  leave  it  to  the  reader  to  distin- 
guish them),  as  we  point  with  pride  to  the  boxes, 
under  which  the  guides  are  struggling,  and  which 
soon  are  securely  lashed  to  the  buckboard,  and 
are  completely  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  John's 
forethought  in  covering  them,  as  the  robins  did  the 
little  babes  in  the  woods,  "  all  over  with  leaves." 

"Any  thing  new  down  in  the  world,  John,  — the 
wicked  world?  " 

"  No,  nothing  to  speak  of:  hay's  promisin'." 

Our  thoughts  just  then  were  farther  on  than  the 
hay-fields,  —  to  the  region  of  bricks  and  granite, 


74          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

where  are  heard  a  Babel  of  voices  and  the  din  of 
the  city ;  but  a  fresh  application  of  tar  (for  at  the 
Arm  the  mosquitoes  and  flies  hold  high  carnival) 
soon  turned  the  tenor  of  our  thoughts  to  time  pres- 
ent. After  a  hearty  lunch,  our  own  enriched  by  a 
few  slices  of  cold  spring  lamb  and  a  nice  little 
leaf-lined  box  of  wild  strawberries  which  Mrs. 
Merrill's  thoughtfulness  had  provided,  from  John's 
end  of  the  route,  we  were  ready  for  a  start.  The 
horses,  having  also  finished  their  dinner,  were  quite 
ready  and  willing  to  leave  this  "  winged  begirt  spot," 
although  knowing  that  a  long  and  hard  journey 
was  before  them. 

Such  a  heap  of  talk,  and  such  wonderful  yarns, 
did  we  pour  into  John's  ears  for  the  first  hour  of  our 
homeward  ride  !  I  don't  wonder,  remembering 
our  volubility,  that  the  poor  man  said,  if  I'd  drive, 
he  guessed  he'd  walk,  as  'twas  rather  hard  on  the 
horses.  Hard  for  him,  too,  perhaps :  but  John 
was  always  patient,  and  a  willing  listener  to  stories 
oft  repeated ;  and  never  would  he,  by  look  or  ac 
tion,  seek  to  throw  discredit  on  the  largest,  most 
extravagant  tale.  Only  once,  he  couldn't  swallow 
the  bear-story  which  Badger  and  Richardson,  from 
the  Middle  Dam,  had  been  bruin  for  our  edifica- 
tion, and  with  which  they  filled  our  listening  ears 
on  our  arrival  at  Andover. 


DEPARTURE.  75 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  John:  "bears  don't 
act  that  way  —  leastwise,  when  they  have  cubs;" 
and  that  ended  the  discussion,  so  far  as  John  was 
concerned ;  and  we,  —  why,  we  thought  as  John  did. 
And  it  soon  turned  out  that  there  was  no  bear  and 
no  cubs,  and  they  didn't  come  out  of  the  woods  to 
frighten  sportsmen  from  Boston,  who  hadn't  said, 
"  Go  up,  baldhead  !  " 

John  was  walking  briskly  along  some  distance  in 
advance  of  the  buckboard,  a  heavy  stick  in  one 
hand,  and  a  twig  of  green  in  the  other  with  which 
he  was  brushing  away  at  the  moving  insects,  when 
suddenly  he  turned  and  motioned  us  to  stop  :  com- 
ing towards  us,  he  pointed  to  a  spot  ahead,  where 
his  keen  eye  had  discovered  a  partridge  with  her 
brood  lurking  in  the  bushes  by  the  roadside. 

Jumping  from  the  buckboard,  I  hurried  to  the 
spot,  thinking  to  catch  a  sight,  a  novel  one  to  me, 
of  the  young  brood.  When  I  was  apparently  right 
among  them,  the  old  bird  started  down  the  road, 
limping  and  dragging  one  wing  upon  the  ground, 
appearing  to  be  very  much  crippled,  either  by  the 
hand  of  man  or  by  some  of  the  denizens  of  the 
wilderness. 

John  saw  the  bird  running  away,  and  shouted  to 
me  to  catch  it ;  which  I  nearly  succeeded  in  doing, 
several  times  getting  my  hand  almost  upon  it,  when 


76          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

a  greater  exertion  of  the  wounded  fowl  would  take 
her  just  beyond  my  reach.  Suddenly,  to  my  great 
surprise,  but  evidently  not  to  John's,  whose  loud 
guffaws  reached  my  ears,  the  poor  lame  creature 
spread  its  wings,  and,  "  swift  as  an  arrow  from  an 
archer's  bow,"  sped  away  from  me,  and  was  soon 
lost  to  sight  in  the  abundant  foliage. 

I  don't  know  just  how  I  felt  when  I  reached  the 
buckboard  on  the  home  stretch.  I  am  unable  to 
describe  just  how  a  man  does  feel  when  he  appre- 
ciates that  he  has  been  sold  :  comment,  however,  is 
unnecessary  —  probably  "  you  know  how  it  is,  your- 
self." 

And  why  should  his  best  friend,  and  the  wife  of 
his  bosom,  join  with  a  gray-haired  sire  in  endeav- 
oring to  outdo  each  other  in  hilarity,  when  only 
laziness  kept  the  two  former  from  falling  into  the 
same  trap  ?  Such,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  was  the  fact ; 
and  when  I  now  refer  to  it,  as  an  incident  of  the 
past,  to  one  sitting  beside  me,  poring  over  "  The 
Newcomes,"  all  the  satisfaction  I  get  is  — 

"You  were  pretty  well  sold,  weren't  you?  "  As 
if  she,  "poor  thing,"  didn't  fondly  expect  partridge 
that  night  for  supper  ! 

I  do  not  propose  to  argue  upon  the  reasoning 
faculties  of  the  species  in  general,  or  my  individual 
partridge,  and  have  only  stated  a  fact,  which,  to 


DEPARTURE.  77 

three  of  our  party  at  that  time  was  entirely  new 
and  strange,  but  which  Uncle  John  assured  us  he  had 
often  seen  before,  —  the  parent  bird  thus  endeavor- 
ing by  cunning  artifice  to  draw  attention  from  its 
brood,  by  encouraging  a  hope  of  easy  capture  of 
itself;  for  it  takes  but  a  few  moments  for  the  young 
to  conceal  themselves  so  effectually,  that  you  may 
pass  them  on  every  side,  and  not  discover  their 
hiding-places. 

After  passing  the  Notch,  finding  we  are  in  good 
time,  we  improvise  a  couple  of  rods  by  cutting 
birch-saplings,  and  coax  out  from  a  few  pools  in 
Black  River,  whose  course  our  road  follows,  some 
thirty  or  forty  trout  in  a  much  less  number  of  min- 
utes. 

These  trout  average  about  three  ounces,  and  are 
most  delicate  eating.  The  stream  is  full  of  them  : 
I  think  a  lively  fisherman  could  capture  three  hun- 
dred in  a  day,  and  not  have  to  travel  far  either. 
Having  taken  all  we  needed  for  our  supper,  we  are 
off  again  for  Andover,  which  we  reach  in  quite  a 
fresh  condition  at  about  five  o'clock. 

And  now  commences  the  putting-off  of  tar  and 
fisherman's  clothing,  and  putting  on  cleanliness 
and  city  habiliments ;  for  we  are  once  more  in  civ- 
ilized society,  and  must  conduct  ourselves  after  the 
manner  of  men.  At  nine  o'clock  the  stage  arrives, 


78          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

and  brings  a  few  sportsmen,  whose  ears  we  regale 
with  marvellous  fish-stories,  sending  them  to  bed 
with  bright  anticipations  of  the  sport  in  store  for 
them. 

B and  I  were  smoking  our  last  pipe  on  the 

piazza,  watching  the  moon  as  it  sank  behind  the 
far-off  hills,  both  of  us  in  a  dreamy,  half-uncon- 
scious state,  when  suddenly  he  turned  to  me,  and 
in  a  serious  tone  of  voice  propounded  the  follow- 
ing momentous  question :  — 

"  Stevens,  which  had  you  rather  —  or  go  a-fish- 
ing?" 

This  remark  was  not  new  :  I  had  heard  the  same 
question  put  in  the  same  manner,  for  the  first  time, 
several  years  after,  and  double  that  number  before. 
Neither  was  the  time  or  place  appropriate  for  such 
a  question.  I  was  displeased  that  he  should  put  it 
in  that  manner  :  it  hurt  my  feelings  ;  and,  more  than 
that,  it  made  me  mad.  I  cast  upon  him  a  withering 
look;  and  with  all  the  theatrical  scorn  I  could 
crowd  into  the  short  sentence  I  replied,  — 

"  B ,  you're  a  fool.  Go  to  bed."  And  he 

did,  and  so  did  I. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ON   THE   ROAD. 

HALL  I  mention  his  name  ? 

It  is  S .     He  is  an  undertaker. 

He  sits  at  his  window  on  Tremont 
Street ;  and,  as  I  pass  up  and  down 
in  the  horse-cars,  I  often  have  a 
bow  from  him,  also  a  sweet  smile,  being  an  ac- 
quaintance. 

I  know  what  he  is  saying  to  himself :  — 
"  One  of  these  days,   old  fellow  !   I'm  waiting, 
waiting  patiently ;  but  you  must  come  to  my  little 
net  one  of  these  days." 

I  don't  think  an  undertaker  is  a  cheerful  acquaint- 
ance anyway ;  and  I  wouldn't  care  to  add  many 
to  my  list  of  friends,  though  without  doubt  they 
are  an  excellent  class  of  people,  but  they  look  at 
you  as  if  you  were  somehow  their  property,  only  to 
be  waited  for. 

79 


8o          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

It  makes  me  just  a  little  provoked  sometimes, 
when  Mr.  S.  smiles  so  blandly  at  me  \  and  as  vaca- 
tion time  comes  around,  and  I  begin  to  lag  a  little, 
and  the  work  of  the  year  shows  itself  in  the  face 
and  frame,  somehow  my  friend's  smiles  grow  more 
bland.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  suspect  that  there  is 
a  trifle  of  business  in  that  look  :  not  for  the  world  ! 

But  as  I  disrobe  myself  to-night,  and  feel  the 
renewed  strength  and  the  elasticity  of  youth,  and 
the  mirror  reflects  the  bronzed  countenance,  the 
arms  browned  and  strengthened  (having  just  re- 
turned from  a  glorious  camping  vacation,  not  only 
the  arms  but  the  accompaniments),  I  feel  that  I 
have  got  a  little  start  on  my  friend,  and  I  chuckle 
inwardly  to  think  that  the  next  time  his  smile  will 
be  less  "childlike  and  bland,"  and  that  he  will  be 
obliged  to  lengthen  my  lease  a  little. 

I  felt  that  way,  so  far  as  renewed  strength  is  con- 
cerned, as  I  jumped  out  of  bed  the  morning  after 
our  arrival  at  Andover. 

We  had  been  watching  a  little  cricket,  running  in 
and  out  among  those  fresh  green  spruce  and  pine 
boughs  with  which  Mrs.  Merrill,  like  many  other 
farmers'  wives,  had  adorned  her  fireplace. 

He  had  been  chirping  merrily  for  quite  a  while, 
and  of  course  we  were  reminded  of  the  genial 
author  who  has  almost  immortalized  him. 


ON  THE  ROAD.  8l 

It  was  rather  rude  and  unpoetical  on  my  part, 
after  the  madam  had  been  so  enthusiastic  over  him, 
to  ask  her  why  a  cricket  was  any  more  lovable 
than  a  water-bug.  Her  reply  was  as  feminine  as  it 
was  satisfactory :  "I  guess  it's  because  they  don't 
get  into  things  you  don't  want  them  to,  little  harm- 
less creatures  !  "  Then  I  was  mean  enough  to  say, 
"  Don't  you  think,  if  we  had  as  many  crickets  in 
our  kitchen  as  water-bugs,  they  would  be  equally  as 
troublesome?" 

"Well,  but  we  don't." 

"That's  true,"  said  I;  "but"—  And  I  was 
about  to  proceed  with  a  forcible  argument  to  show 
that  like  precious  stones,  rare  coins,  and  the  like, 
the  "  little  harmless  creature  "  was  beloved  because 
he  was  scarce,  and  not  often  found  in  the  pantry ; 
but  I  happened  to  remember  the  argument  we  had 
in  camp,  in  regard  to  the  difference  of  our  watches, 
and  refrained.  I  never  dc  like  to  argue  with  a 
woman  on  general  principles,  with  my  wife  for  par- 
ticular reasons  :  I  prefer  the  barber.  It  is  much 
more  comfortable  to  have  it  cut  off  than  pulled  out, 
and  the  difference  in  the  expense  is  trifling.  One 
other  reason  also  for  not  prolonging  the  argument : 
I  believe  in  crickets,  I  don't  in  water-bugs ;  and 
arguing  for  the  sake  of  argument,  before  breakfast, 
is  absurd. 


82  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Such  a  charming  morning,  such  an  appetite  for 
breakfast,  and  such  a  breakfast  !  tiny  trout,  mere 
fingerlings,  fried  so  crisp  they  were  simply  deli- 
cious ;  thin  slices  of  dry  toast  with  the  sweetest  of 
butter;  griddle-cakes  upon  which  we  poured  the 
purest  of  maple  sirup ;  coffee  without  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  chiccory,  mantled  with  the  richest 
cream,  —  no  wonder  that  we  felt  regretful  at  leav- 
ing such  an  hostelry. 

Next  to  a  meal  under  one's  own  roof,  where 
your  own  and  your  loved  one's  tastes  are  known 
and  catered  to,  give  me  one  like  this,  though  served 
in  simple  manner  :  let  the  cloth  be  white  and  clean, 
the  napkins  large  and  ditto,  the  forks  four-tined, 
—  I  ask  no  more.  For  me  no  costly  service,  no 
elaborate  bill  of  fare  at  hotel  of  'high-sounding 
name,  has  half  the  charm.  I  have  tried  both ;  the 
latter  too  much  for  comfort,  the  former  —  well,  I 
hope  next  year  may  find  us  there  again. 

Good-by,  John !  may  the  winter's  frosts  deal 
gently  with  thee  and  thine,  and  returning  spring 
bring  with  it  renewed  strength  and  vigor,  and  bring 
us  too,  John,  all  of  us,  to  this  much-loved  spot. 

"Deacon,  those  three  top  seats,  remember." 

"  Oh,  they'll  be  all  right !  no  danger  of  any- 
body's wantin'  'em  at  this  end  but  your  folks : 
country  people  like  the  inside  best." 


ON  THE  ROAD.  83 

Which  is  a  fact  I  have  often  noticed,  but  whether 
it  can  be  explained  by  the  same  process  of  reason- 
ing that  will  enable  us  to  tell  why  Boston  people 
never  visit  Bunker-hill  Monument,  I  am  unable  to 
say.  I  only  know,  and  knew  it  long  before  the 
Deacon  mentioned  it  that  morning,  and  many  of 
my  readers  will  bear  me  out  in  the  fact,  having  un- 
doubtedly witnessed  the  same  thing  very  many 
times  themselves,  and  which  was,  as  Mr.  Squeers 
would  say,  in  this  instance  "  a  very  pleasant  thing 
for  all  parties." 

And  so,  after  seeing  the  traps  well  and  snugly 
stowed,  we  mount  to  our  lofty  positions,  and  find 
ourselves  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  top  of  Uncle 
John's  piazza. 

The  last  duty,  that  of  receiving  the  mail-bag 
from  the  hands  of  Mr.  Purington,  having  been  per- 
formed, the  great  morning  event  of  the  day  takes 
place ;  and  amid  the  good-bys  of  our  friends,  the 
barking  of  a  few  village  curs,  and  the  rumbling  of 
wheels,  we  are  fast  leaving  the  scenes  of  so  many 
delightful  pleasures. 

"  Take  your  last  look  at  Old  Bald  Pate,  friends, 
for  there  will  be  less  hair  upon  your  own,  perhaps, 
when  next  his  form  you  see  :  some  deeper  shadows 
than  those  resting  upon  his  leafy  bosom  may  cross 
your  path  before  you  come  again.  What,  woman  1 


84          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

shedding  a  few  tears?  well  done !  Not  tears, 
merely  a  little  dust  in  your  eyes,  is  it?  Well,  I 
wouldn't  have  ridiculed  them,  were  they  of  joy  at 
pleasures  past,  or  a  passing  fear  of  what  may  come 
•hereafter ;  but  better,  much  better  the  former,  and 
I  know  you  too  well  to  believe  it  could  be  the 
latter." 

From  the  first  person  singular  to  the  first  person 
plural ;  and  which  of  us  shall  hold  the  umbrella,  is 
now  the  subject  of  anxious  debate  ;  for  although  — 

"  As  yet  the  early  rising  sun 
Has  not  attained  his  noon,"  — 

and  there  is  little  fear  of  his  deepening  the  tints  of 
ruddy  brown  upon  our  faces,  yet  a  covering  such 
as  this  gives  a  subdued  tone  to  the  pretty  farm 
scenes  about  us,  and  enables  us  to  gaze  with  a 
clearer  vision  upon  the  far-off  hills,  which,  like 
mighty  barriers,  seem  to  hem  us  in  on  every  side. 
Naturally  in  this  discussion  the  madam  gracefully 
withdrew,  and  hid  herself  under  another  covering, 
—  that  of  her  sex,  woman's  rights  being  for  the" 
moment  forgotten.  It  remained,  therefore,  for  the 
question  to  be  decided  between  Charlie  and  myself; 
which  was  settled  somewhat  summarily  by  the 
Deacon,  who  remarked  that  "  he  guessed  the  little 
fellow  couldn't  hold  it  against  the  wind  anyhow  : ' 


ON  THE  ROAD.  85 

so  I  spread  the  gingham,  and  prayed  for  passing 
clouds. 

And  now  the  summit  of  Zurkin  comes  into  view, 
is  seen  for  an  hour,  then  fades  and  disappears  be- 
hind the  many  lesser  hills  which  border  our  path- 
way ;  we  cross  the  Androscoggin  again,  and  Rum- 
ford  greets  our  sight ;  and  we  regret  to  hear,  as  we 
leave  the  hotel  where  we  change  horses,  that  our 
female  friend,  she  of  the  eloquent  tongue,  has  been 
ingulfed  in  a  torrent  of  her  own  eloquence,  and 
perchance  now  in  other  lands  beyond  the  stars  is  to 
coming  strangers  unveiling  the  glories  that  await 
them. 

But  we  must  not  allow  sober  thoughts  to  detract 
from  the  pleasure  of  this  glorious  ride  ;  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  she  didn't  die,  had  merely  returned  to 
her  home  as  we  were  doing  —  let  us  hope,  with  a 
soul  as  fully  satisfied  as  ours. 

"That  there  plant  which  you  see,  that  little 
patch  down  yonder,  on  that  sidehill,  is  terbacker. 
The  chap  that  lives  there  come  from  Connecticut : 
he's  trying  to  raise  it,  but  I  guess  it  won't  come  to 
much." 

This  from  the  Deacon,  to  party  in  the  family 
circle. 

"  Well,  Deacon,  let  us  hope  he  will  succeed  ;  for, 
if  it  is  a  curse,  it  is  a  most  fascinating  and  enjoya- 


86          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

ble  one,  to  say  the  least :  so  forgive  me  for  quot- 
ing one  who  knew  all  about  it,  —  hush  ! 

*  Sublime  tobacco  !  which  from  east  to  west 
Cheers  the  tar's  labor  or  the  Turkman's  rest ; 
Divine  in  hookahs,  glorious  in  a  pipe, 
When  tipped  with  amber,  mellow,  rich,  and  ripe ; 
Like  other  charmers,  wooing  the  caress 
More  dazzlingly  when  daring  in  full  dress; 
Yet  thy  true  lovers  more  admire  by  far 
Thy  naked  beauties  —  give  me  a  cigar  ! ' 

"  One  of  those  little  ones,  Charlie,  I  fain  would 
smoke ;  and  hold  the  umbrella,  my  boy,  while  I 
light  and  prepare  for  the  remaining  ten  miles." 

A  puff  of  the  fragrant  smoke  into  the  left  nostril 
of  the  Deacon  wakes  him  from  a  revery,  and  causes 
him  to  tickle  the  right  ear  of  the  off  leader,  at  the 
same  time  reminding  him  of  a  little  "swap"  he 
made  with  a  brother  stage-driver  a  few  days  before. 
How  he  chuckled  over  the  good  trade  he  made  ! 
and  the  nigh  pole  horse  got  an  extra  "  cut "  in 
token  of  his  satisfaction.  Very  likely  the  party  of 
the  second  part  might,  even  then,  be  relating  to 
some  willing  listeners  by  his  side  the  story  of  how 
he  "jewed  the  Deacon  :  "  at  all  events,  there  never 
was  a  man  but  thought  his  the  better  trade  in 
"swapping  horses." 

The  Deacon's  experiences  brought  forth  a  similar 


ON  THE  ROAD.  87 

one  on  the  part  of  the  "  little  fellow ;  "  and  the  pure 
fresh  air  soon  roused  us  to  song  and  shout,  and  we 
behaved  very  much  like  a  party  of  school-children, 
who  were  soon  to  resume  their  desks  and  studies ; 
and  very  likely  we  felt  like  them,  for  well  we  knew 
that  all  too  soon  were  we  to  put  off  our  country 
manners  and  customs,  and  don  our  city  ways. 

The  madam  thought  the  elderberry-wine,  which 
we  surreptitiously  obtained  at  a  wayside  "  agency," 
had  something  to  do  with  raising  our  spirits ;  feel- 
ing she  might  possibly  be  correct,  we  lowered  the 
spirits  accordingly,  which  reminds  me,  memo.,  never 
say  "  elderberry  "  to  Charlie  again. 

In  due  time  we  arrived  at  Bryant's  Pond  to  find 
nearly  half  of  the  male  inhabitants  of  the  village 
bear-hunting ;  for  under  cover  of  the  night,  and 
having  not  the  fear  of  the  selectmen  before  his 
eyes,  one  of  these  audacious  fellows  had  descended 
from  his  mountain  fastness  to  the  plains  below, 
and  taken  from  under  their  very  noses  a  goodly 
quantity  of  fine  spring  lamb ;  and  now  with  many 
a  weapon,  from  the  old  queen's-arm  which  gran'ther 
used  in  the  Revolution,  to  the  last  breech-loader  in 
the  hands  of  the  great-grandson  just  arrived  from 
town,  they  had  gone  in  search  of  his  bearship. 

I  had  almost  a  mind  to  say  that  the  old  chap 
knew  something  was  bruin  ;  but  it's  cheap,  I  pauset 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

and  simply  say  he  was  too  much  for  them  ;  for, 
as  one  by  one  returned  from  the  hunt,  it  was  the 
same  story,  "  nary  bear."  The  anger  and  mortifi- 
cation showed  itself  strongest  in  the  young  men,  as 
visions  of  untold  quantities  of  bear's-grease,  with 
which  to  anoint  their  flowing  locks  for  some  fair 
Dulcinea's  gaze,  had  danced  before  their  eyes  and 
vanished  forever. 

The  landlord  at  whose  house  we  dined  shrugged 
his  shoulders  in  a  manner  which  seemed  to  say, 
"  It's  lucky,  old  fellow,  for  your  hide,  that  I  didn't 
go  out."  "You  see,  marm,"  said  he,  "there  ain't 
many  of  'em  as  knows  a  bear's  ways ; "  and  the 
madam  said  "Yes."  But,  for  all  of  his  vanity  and 
self-assurance,  he  gave  us  a  good  dinner ;  to  which, 
thanks  to  the  bracing  stage-ride  and  the  elderberry, 
we  brought  good  appetites. 

"  And  so,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  fully  and  irrevo- 
cably fixed  in  your  decision,  are  you  ?  Very  well, 
then,  we  very  soon  must  part." 

This  to  Charlie,  whom  we  had  endeavored  to 
prevail  upon  to  accompany  us  to  the  White  Hills, 
now  so  near;  but  "circumstances  over  which  lie 
had  no  control "  rendered  it  necessary  that  he 
should  return,  and  so  here  was  to  be  our  parting. 
And  here,  then,  kind  reader,  shall  we  part ;  for  this 
fishing  story  is  at  an  end,  unless  you  will  take  the 


ON  THE  ROAD.  89 

journey,  no  doubt  a  familiar  one  to  you,  and  go 
with  us  through  one  more  chapter,  and  revel  once 
more  in  your  mind's  eye  among  the  glories  of 
those  cloud-capped  mountains. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  this  fishing  story  is  at  an  end ; 
not  for  want  of  material,  for  there  are  other  scenes 
and  other  times  of  equal  pleasure  that  crowd  my 
memory  as  I  write  these  lines.  And  so  will  it  ever 
be  to  you,  my  friend,  should  you,  even  in  your 
later  years,  take  up  the  angler's  art :  it  grows  with 
its  growth,  and  strengthens  with  its  strength,  and, 
if  uncurbed,  may  perchance,  with  many  of  us,  be- 
come a  passion. 

But,  for  all  that,  it  will  fill  the  storehouse  of  our 
memories  with  many  a  scene  of  unalloyed  pleasure, 
which  in  the  sunset  of  life  we  may  look  back  upon 
with  fondest  satisfaction. 

If  in  the  minds  of  any  one  of  you  who  as  yet 
are  ignorant  of  the  charm  of  fishing,  as  it  has  here 
been  revealed,  I  have  induced  the  desire  for  a  test, 
"  stand  not  'ipon  the  order  of  your  going,  but 
go  at  once,"  provided  it  be  the  season,  and,  the 
word  of  an  old  fisherman  for  it,  you  will  thank 
me  for  these  random  pages. 

If  you  do  not,  the  pleasure  it  has  been  to  talk  over 
past  experiences  as  I  write,  with  the  one  to  whom 
these  pages  are  dedicated,  has  been  sufficient,  with- 


9o 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 


out  the  additional  satisfaction  of  fresh  converts  to 
the  gentle  art. 

"  Charlie,  I  hear  the  whistle  :  for  a  few  days,  fare- 
well ;  and  remember,  for  it's  worth  your  while, — 

Should  cutters  cut  up  like  the  deuce, 

And  customers  gang  fail, 
You've  interviewed  the  gamesome  trout, 

And  thereby  '  hangs  a  tale.'  " 

"  Good-by,  Mrs.  S ,  and  old  Stevens,  and  be 

sure  you  don't  tumble  down  the  mountain." 
And  so  we  parted. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


THE   WHITE   HILLS. 

[ROM  my  boyhood  days  I  have  been 
taught  almost  to  reverence  them ; 
not  taught,  but  naturally,  from  early 
association,  I  looked  up  to  them,  — 
literally  so ;  for  from  the  windows 
of  my  home  I  could,  on  a  clear 
spring  day,  see  the  snow-clad  peak 
of  Mount  Washington  glistening  under  the  warm 
sunlight. 

And,  to  be  more  practical,  the  first  real  feast  of 
apples  I  ever  enjoyed  was  from  a  barrel,  all  my 
own,  sent  to  me  by  a  good  woman  of  North  Con- 
way,  who  said  it  was  a  pity  "the  boy  couldn't, 
for  once,  have  all  the  apples  he  wanted."  Could 
I  ever  forget  her,  dear  Susan  Hanson,  afterward  the 
wife  of  the  late  celebrated  portrait-painter  of  our 
city,  Albert  Hoyt? 

91 


92  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Her  mountain  home  was  under  the  shadow  of 
those  lordly  hills.  Then  the  pictured  story  of  the 
Willey  family,  as  seen  in  our  early  geographies, 
telling  in  such  vivid  language  the  story  of  their 
sudden  destruction  :  these,  and  oft-repeated  stories 
of  our  New  England  hills,  the  sight  of  the  well- 
filled  and  top-crowded  stage-coach,  driven  by  that 
pioneer  of  mountain  travel,  Joseph  Smith,  the 
veteran  whom  all  old  Portlanders  will  well  remem- 
ber, united  to  fix  indelibly  in  my  young  mind  the 
wish  that  I  might  soon  be  old  enough  to  be  indulged 
with  a  nearer  view  of  what,  to  my  youthful  imagina- 
tion, seemed  a  world  beyond  my  ken. 

And  so  I  grew  up  to  love  and  revere  these 
"  Hills  ;  "  and  from  my  first  ascent  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington, by  bridle-path  from  Crawford's,  to  later 
ones  by  rail,  from  the  same  starting-point,  and  by 
carriage-road  from  the  Glen,  till  now,  when  with 
past  memories  fresh  in  my  mind  I  look  forward 
with  fond  anticipation  of  renewed  enjoyment,  I 
feel,  as  it  were,  that  these  hills  were  a  part  of  the 
better  part  of  myself. 

And  for  far  more  than  what  I  have  written,  —  for 
the  remembrance  of  those  excursions  includes  the 
memory  of  a  brother,  a  wife,  and  a  mother,  who 
shared  the  excitement  of  the  ascent,  and  the 
rich  return  in  the  sublimity  of  the  scenes  spread 


THE    WHITE  HILLS.  93 

out  at  one's  feet,  whether  in  sunshine  or  in  storm, 
when  from  the  heavy  clouds  below  came  the  crash- 
ing of  the  artillery  of  heaven,  and  the  mutterings  of 
the  tempest,  or  when  the  glad  sunlight  lit  up  the 
distant  hills,  and  made  the  countless  lakes  and 
streams  beneath  to  sparkle  and  glow  like  sheets  of 
silver. 

But  it  is  forward,  and  not  backward,  we  must 
now  look ;  and  our  landlord  informs  us  that  the 
train  is  about  due  which  is  to  take  us  to  Gorham. 
It  soon  appears  ;  and  we  are  seated,  —  not  in  com- 
pany with  the  multitude,  but,  through  the  courtesy 
of  the  engineer,  we  are  allowed  the  "  first  seat  in 
the  synagogue,"  and  place  ourselves  by  his  side  in 
the  cab  of  the  locomotive. 

"  With  pleasure,  if  you  will  take  your  own  risk," 
was  that  gentleman's  reply  to  my  request  for  the 
privilege  of  a  seat  beside  him.  I  do  not  think, 
aside  from  the  novelty  of  the  situation,  the  change 
from  the  accustomed  seat  was  a  favorable  one. 
There  was  a  little  satisfaction  in  being  ahead,  but 
not  so  much  in  being  jolted  from  side  to  side  in  a 
manner  strongly  suggestive  of  getting  a  little  too 
far  on  one  side,  and  not  getting  back  in  season. 

From  Bryant's  Pond  to  Gorham,  where  we  take 
stage  for  the  Glen  House,  the  distance  is  about 
twenty-five  miles ;  and  at  four  in  the  afternoon  we 


94  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

reach  that  well-known  locality.  Here  at  that  time, 
but  which  has  since  been  burned,  was  a  fine  hotel, 
—  the  Alpine  House,  —  where  the  traveller  from  a 
distance  would  often  stay  for  a  day  or  two,  to  re- 
cover from  the  fatigues'  of  his  journey,  and  enjoy 
the  fine  view  of  the  mountains  to  be  had  at  this 
point.  But  the  stage-coach,  and  a  nearer  view  of 
the  hills,  had  more  charms  for  us ;  and  so,  amid  the 
rush  of  happy  tourists,  we  climb  to  our  lofty  outside 
seats. 

The  fall  before  our  visit,  Mr.  J.  M.  Thompson, 
who  for  many  years  had  been  the  proprietor  of  the 
"  Glen,"  was  drowned  during  one  of  the  greatest 
freshets  that  had  occurred  for  many  years,  and 
which  completely  changed  the  course  of  many  of 
the  mountain  streams. 

His  sons  were  this  year  keeping  the  hotel,  in 
company  with  Mr.  Stephen  Cummings  of  Portland. 
The  care  of  the  horses  and  carriages  devolved 
upon  Mr.  Whitney  Thompson,  and  the  office 
duties  upon  another  son,  Charles,  —  all  old  school 
acquaintances.  That  the  stable  duties  required  a 
person  of  energy  and  experience,  may  be  under- 
stood when  I  mention  that  something  like  three 
hundred  horses  were  usually  required  to  supply 
the  demand  :  they  were  employed  on  the  stages 
between  the  Glen  and  Gorham,  in  ascending  the 


THE    WHITE  HILLS.  95 

mountain,  both  by  carriage  and  under  the  saddle, 
and  for  the  private  use  of  the  guests.  A  finer  lof 
of  animals  is  seldom  seen ;  and,  if  I  have  digressed 
a  little,  it  is  because  my  thoughts  are  taking  me 
back  so  vividly  to  that  afternoon  stage-ride.  Six 
coal-black  horses,  as  smooth  and  sleek  as  can  be 
found  in  any  city  stable  or  making  the  tour  of 
Chestnut  Hill,  composed  our  team. 

A  dozen  outside  passengers,  and  a  happy  party 
we  were.  Being  a  steady  ascent  for  ten  miles,  our 
ride  was  not  a  rapid  one  :  still  the  changes  of  the 
scenery,  the  bracing  air,  and  the  constant  expecta- 
tion of  something  new  to  wonder  at,  made  the  time 
pass  rapidly  and  pleasantly  ;  and  so  we  rattled  on, 
until,  all  too  soon,  the  journey  was  at  an  end,  and 
our  proud  steeds  stood  impatiently  pawing  the 
ground,  as  we  descended  in  front  of  the  broad 
piazza  of  the  "  Glen." 

As  I  look  vacantly  about  me,  collecting  my 
thoughts  for  the  next  passage,  my  eyes  rest  upon 
the  centre-table  in  our  library,  where  I  am  writ- 
ing:  there  are  seven  books  in  the  rack,  display- 
ing the  different  literary  tastes  of  the  family ;  but, 
as  I  remember  my  feelings  at  that  time,  the  book 
to  which  I  should  turn  to  describe  my  emotions 
is  not  among  them,  —  no,  nor  is  it  in  my  library ; 
yet  such  an  one  there,  is  somewhere  about  the 


96  FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

house ;  my  impression  is,  that  it  will  be  found  in 
the  kitchen-table  drawer,  sandwiched  between  sun- 
dry napkins,  newspapers,  flatiron-holders,  and  per- 
haps a  few  stray  love-letters  to  Bridget.  Oh  !  you 
can  guess  now,  can  you?  you  are  right,  it's  the 
cook-book.  And  though  I  am  fully  aware,  dear 
reader,  that  you  would  have  gone  without  your 
supper  to  have  gazed  upon  those  grand  and  lofty 
peaks  as  they  faded  in  the  decline  of  day,  yet  the 
truth  shall  be  spoken  if  we  forfeit  your  regard .:  we 
left  them,  and  sought  the  dining-room.  We  were 
hungry :  we  knew  the  mountains  would  keep,  but 
the  supper  —  well,  there  were  doubts  about  that. 

We  did  not  have  Harvard  or  Yale  students  to 
wait  at  table  in  those  days,  but  we  needed  no 
college  lore  to  teach  us  our  method  of  procedure  : 
in  the  language  of  Uncle  John  Merrill  of  Andover, 
we  "took  hold,"  and  did  full  justice  to  our  hosts 
and  our  appetites. 

And  after  supper,  how  pleasant  it  was,  —  having 
lighted  my  cigar,  and  taken  my  chair  to  a  lone  cor- 
ner of  the  piazza,  and  with  only  one  beside  me,  but 
that  one's  every  pulse  beating  in  unison  with  mine, 
—  to  gaze  up,  far  upward  upon  the  shadowy  peak  of 
Washington,  to  see  the  sunlight  fade  away,  the  twi- 
light come,  and  one  by  one,  the  stars  appear  !  One 
does  not  feel  like  talking  much  under  such  influ 


THE    WHITE  HILLS.  g^ 

enoes.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  I  just  sat  and 
smoked,  and  listened  to  the  stillness  about  me ; 
and  that  my  companion  of  these  glories  was  alike 
silent  and  thoughtful. 

If  I  could  only  write  how  self-satisfied  I  feel  at 
such  times,  —  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  and  for- 
getful of  all  its  rough,  hard  edges  !  but  it  is  no  use 
attempting  it :  you  have  appreciated  the  feeling,  of 
course  you  have ;  if  not,  you  would  have  laid  aside 
this  book  long  before  you  came  to  this  ;  for,  if  you 
are  not  such  a  lover  of  nature,  you  can  never  have 
journeyed  with  us  thus  far. 

Then  the  darkness  came,  —  a  darkness  that  you 
could  almost  feel,  very  different  from  that  of  the 
half-lighted  city  or  the  unlighted  village  ;  a  dreamy 
darkness,  not  so  unlike  but  what  we  knew  that  it 
meant,  to  tired  mortals,  bed-time.  We  took  the 
hint,  and  retired,  hoping  the  clouds  would  dispel, 
the  morrow  be  fair,  and  our  ascent  of  the  mountain 
a  favorable  one  ;  and  it  was. 

All  mountain  parties  are  merry  ones ;  and  it  does 
not  fake  long  for  the  front  seat  to  get  acquainted 
with  the  rear,  or  all  to  become  on  free-and-easy 
terms  with  the  driver.  True,  the  romance  is  some- 
what taken  away,  as  we  go  up  by  carriage-road 
instead  of  the  old  bridle-path ;  but  there's  lots  of 
fun  left,  nevertheless.  The  chances  are,  you  will 


98          FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

have  among  your  number  a  talkative  man,  a  fright- 
ened woman,  and  several  gushing  misses  :  we  did,  — 
had  them  all,  and  managed  to  extract  fun  from 
each. 

It  is  perfectly  astonishing  how  familiar  one  gets 
to  be  on  a  short  acquaintance,  and  the  largest  lib- 
erties are  allowed  on  these  occasions.  It  is  not 
rapid  locomotion,  this  ascent  of  mountains,  even 
if  in  this  day  of  improvements  you  do,  if  you  are  so 
inclined,  travel  by  rail ;  and  we  had  ample  oppor- 
tunity to  study  character  on  our  way  up.  I  do  not 
propose  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  beauties 
of  the  scenery  that  greeted  our  sight  as  different 
turns  in  our  upward  march  constantly  brought  new 
scenes  before  us. 

"  Isn't  it  just  charming?  "  "  Don't  you  think  we 
are  going  too  near  the  edge,  driver?  "  "  Oh  !  how 
lovely  !  "  such  were  the  exclamations,  varied  some- 
what, from  time  to  time,  by  a  comparison  from  the 
talkative  man  who  had  travelled  abroad,  and  who 
apparently  knew  more  about  foreign  countries  than 
he  did  about  his  own. 

And  now  the  call  for  shawls  and  overcoats  tells 
us  that  we  are  reaching  the  end  of  our  upward 
journey;  and  the  black  and  scurrying  clouds, 
which  are  close  above  our  heads,  bid  fair  to  give 
us  a  little  wetting  before  we  reach  the  summit. 


THE    WHITE  HILLS.  99 

But  no,  only  a  few  flakes  of  snow,  just  enough  to 
remind  us  of  winter,  and  the  clouds  pass  on,  and  it 
is  sunshine  again,  and  we  are  at  the  top  -of  the 
mountain. 

Such  a  chattering  of  teeth,  and  such  a  rush  for 
the  stove,  by  the  ladies  !  such  drawing  of  pistols 
(pocket  ones)  by  the  gentlemen  !  "  It's  so  ab- 
sur-ur-ur-d,"  said  one  young  miss,  "  to  be  shiver- 
ing in  July  :  I  suppose  down  below  they're  fan-an- 
anning  themselves." 

But  it  did  not  take  long  to  warm  up ;  and,  hun- 
ger succeeding  to  cold,  dinner  was  the  next  thing 
in  order.  Whoever,  among  my  readers,  has  dined 
at  the  "Tip-Top,"  will  agree  with  me,  that,  al- 
though in  one  sense  the  meals  are  of  a  high  order, 
and  the  price  demanded  in  the  same  category,  yet 
there  is  a  wonderful  chance  for  improvement  in  the 
cuisine. 

Perhaps  the  worthy  proprietor  may  have  thought, 
that,  the  mind  being  well  fed,  the  body  could  get 
along  for  one  day  on  cold  victuals  and  bad  coffee ; 
but  that  is  poor  logic,  particularly  when  you  are 
charged  for  a  good  dinner.  I  am  told  that  it  is 
better  now,  and  hope  I  am  told  the  truth. 

"  Hold  on  to  the  iron  rods,  or  you  will  be  blown 
away,  my  dear !  Yonder  pile  of  rocks  is  Lizzie 
Bourne's  monument :  you  shall  go  to  it,  and  add 
your  stone,  when  the  wind  lulls." 


100        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Our  view  is  better  than  the  average ;  and  after 
gazing  with  rapture  and  awe  upon  the  many  peaks 
beneath  us,  and  the  winding  streams  which  are 
flowing  onward  to  the  distant  ocean,  upon  the 
boundless  forests  stretching  far  away  into  the  dis- 
tance, the  little  villages  scattered  here  and  there, 
with  their  white  cottages,  and  church-spires  pointing 
heavenward,  we  prepare  for  our  descent. 

Words  fail  to  convey  the  satisfaction  felt  by  every 
one  ;  and  even  the  ladies  are  silent  amid  so  much 
grandeur  and  glory.  But  they  soon  find  their 
tongues  as  our  sure-footed  horses  break  into  a  trot, 
and  our  carriage  rattles  over  the  well-built  road. 
The  brakes  are  strong,  and  the  driver  knows  his 
business ;  and,  unheeding  the  "  Oh,  dears  ! "  we 
rapidly  journey  downward ;  and,  in  less  than  half 
the  time  that  the  ascent  required,  we  are  at  the 
door  of  the  "Glen,"  where  an  excited  crowd  are 
waiting  to  receive  us.  Then  our  experiences  are 
told  to  those  who  go  up  to  morrow,  and  every  one 
is  happy.  A  short  time  after  our  arrival,  the  rain, 
which  had  threatened  us  going  up,  began  to  fall ; 
and  the  fair  ones  sought  the  shelter  of  the  house, 
or  needed  rest  in  their  rooms. 

As  there  were  several  hours  of  daylight  yet,  and 
my  rubber  coat  being  handy,  I  could  not  resist  the 
inclination  to  try  a  few  casts  in  the  stream  which 


THE    WHITE  HILLS.  IO1 

flows  by  the  house  ;  so,  jointing  my  lightest  rod,  and 
selecting  my  smallest  flies,  I  was  soon  in  readiness 
for  business. 

"  Follow  the  stream  down  to  the  mill-pond,  and 
fish  that,"  said  Charlie  Thompson,  as  I  started  out : 
"  you  will  find  larger  trout,  and  you  may  meet  Mr. 
Arthur  and  his  friend ;  they  went  out  a  little  while 
ago."  So,  without  stopping  to  inquire  who  Mr. 
Arthur  might  be,  I  directed  my  steps  to  the  stream, 
and  "  followed  it  to  the  mill-pond  "  some  half  a 
mile  below,  now  and  then  stopping  for  a  cast,  and 
being  rewarded  by  the  capture  of  several  youngsters 
of  about  a  finger's  length,  but  losing  more  than  I 
was  taking,  owing  to  my  flies  being  too  large. 

Reaching  the  pond,  I  had  rather  better  Tuck,  and 
took  out  several  of  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  pound  ;  but 
this  was  tame  fishing  after  the  glorious  rises  and 
magnificent  play  of  the  older  members  of  the  fami- 
ly with  which  I  had  been  regaled.  As  the  rain 
increased,  I  reeled  up,  and  started  for  home  by  the 
road.  Half  way  tc*  the  house  I  met  two  young 
gentlemen  in  Scotch  suits,  their  rods  over  their 
shoulders,  apparently  oblivious  of  the  rain  which 
was  then  coming  down  in  torrents.  Naturally  sup- 
posing this  might  be  "  Mr.  Arthur  and  friend,"  I 
saluted  them,  and  put  the  usual  question,  "  Well, 
boys,  what  luck?" 


102        FLY-FISHING  IN -MAINE  LAKES. 

"We  have  just  started  out,"  was  the  answer 
"  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

By  way  of  reply,  I  put  my  hand  into  my  coat- 
pocket,  and  "brought  out  a  handful  of  small  fry ;  re- 
marking that  I  might  have  had  many  more,  but  that 
I  had  been  fishing  for  larger  game,  and  found  my 
flies  were  too  large  to  do  good  service. 

This  brought  a  very  kind  offer  on  their  part  to 
furnish  me  with  a  supply  of  a  suitable  size  :  telling 
them  I  should  probably  have  no  further  use  for 
them,  thanking  them  kindly  for  their  offer,  and 
pointing  out  the  direction  to  the  mill-pond,  I  wished 
them  good  luck,  and  started  for  the  house,  which 
was  then  in  sight.  As  I  entered,  I  met  Charlie  T., 
who  said,  — 

"Well,  I  see  you  met  the  Prince." 

"Met  who?" 

"  Why,  Prince  Arthur  :  that  was  he  and  his  friend 
Col.  Elphinstone,  that  you  were  talking  with  just 
now ;  that's  who  I  meant  by  Mr.  Arthur  and  friend. 
Didn't  you  know  they  were  here?" 

"  No,  I  did  not." 

And  so  I  had  been  keeping  a  scion  of  royalty 
standing  in  the  rain  to  hear  me  expatiate  on  two- 
pound  trout !  Well,  for  once  the  plebeian  had  the 
advantage,  for  my  skin  was  dry,  and  his  must  have 
been  a  trifle  wet ;  but  I  imagine  it  did  him  little 


THE    WHITE  HILLS. 


103 


harm,  for  does  he  not  come  from  a  reigning  family  ? 
We  had  our  little  brooklets  cooked  for  supper ;  and, 
after  a  pleasant  chat  over  the  incidents  of  the  day, 
retired  at  an  early  hour  to  dream  perchance  of  the 
glories  of  these  everlasting  hills. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


CRYSTAL   AND   GLEN    ELLIS    FALLS. 

S.  THOMPSON  says  we  must 
stay  over  one  day  more,  and  she 
will  take  us  to  Glen  Ellis  and  the 
Crystal  Cascade.  She  says  we 
shall  have  the  finest  turnout  in  the 
stables  :  now  won't  you  stay  to-morrow,  dear  ?  You 
know  this  is  my  first  visit ;  and,  besides,  I  haven't 
seen  the  Prince,  either,  and"  — 

"  Oh,    good-night !    do  -  go    to    sleep,    I'm    so 
sleepy  ! " 
.  "Well,  that's  a  good  boy;  won't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !   a  week,   a  month  —  any  time,  any 
thing,  so  you  let  me  go  to  sleep.     Good-night  !  " 

And  so  in  the   morning,  the  first  thing  I  heard 
was,  "You  are  real  kind  to  stay  another  day." 
"Who's  going  to  stay  another  day? " 
104 


CRYSTAL   AND   GLEN  ELLIS  FALLS.      105 

"  We  are  :  you  know  you  said  so  last  night." 

Then  it  flashed  upon  me,  a  faint  recollection 
that  I  had  said  something  of  the  kind ;  and,  before 
I  could  fully  recall  the  conversation,  it  was  all  set- 
tled on  the  part  of  my  better  half,  and  the  plans 
for  the  day  fully  arranged,  —  all  I  had  to  do  was  to 
submit  gracefully.  I  had  long  since  learned  to  re- 
treat in  good  order,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  can 
move  off  the  field  with  as  much  dignity  as  though 
I  had  won  the  battle. 

Meeting  Prince  Arthur  in  the  reading-room  after 
breakfast,  we  renewed  our  fishing  chat ;  and  he 
again  offered  his  flies  so  politely  that  I  accepted  a 
few,  one  of  which  I  keep  in  my  fly-book  as  a 
reminder  of  our  pleasant  meeting,  and  as  a  souve- 
nir of  his  visit. 

It  was  the  unanimous  decision  of  both  gentle- 
men and  ladies,  that  he  couldn't  have  been  any 
more  of  a  gentleman  if  he  hadn't  been  a  prince ; 
for  a  more  modest,  well-informed,  and  agreeable 
young  man  (he  was  then  about  twenty),  one  seldom 
meets. 

During  the  forenoon  we  fished  the  stream  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  house,  and  caught  some  twenty  or 
thirty  little  shavers ;  but  none  of  any  great  size,  the 
river  being  so  constantly  whipped  by  the  guests  of 
the  house,  that  the  trout  have  but  poor  show  foi 
attaining  any  growth. 


106        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

After  dinner  our  four  coal-black  horses  were 
driven  to  the  door,  and  as  the  guests  of  Mrs. 
Thompson  we  started  for  Glen  Ellis  and  the  Cas- 
cade. A  beautiful  drive,  and  then  a  charming 
walk  through  the  woods,  brought  us  to  the  former. 
Long  and  lovingly  did  we  watch  the  dashing  waters, 
as  they  leaped  from  rock  to  rock  in  their  rapid  de 
scent.  The  Glen  Ellis  is  not  an  abrupt  fall,  bui 
rathei  a  succession  of  rapids,  whose  foaming  waters 
seemingly  gather  strength  as  they  press  onward  for 
their  final  plunge  into  a  pool  of  crystal  clearness. 

We  viewed  them  from  their  commencement ;  then 
we  descended  by  staircases  to  the  rocky  bank,  where 
I  left  the  ladies,  and,  climbing  over  the  huge  masses 
of  rock,  followed  the  cataract  in  its  descent  till  the 
rushing  torrent  had  again  become  a  peaceful  river, 
and  was  murmuring  onward,  onward,  to  the  sea,  so 
far  away. 

Then  I  bathed  my  forehead  in  its  cooling  stream, 
and  drank  of  its  liquid  clearness ;  and  as  I  looked 
back  to  where  in  its  mad  career  it  seemed  to  be 
impatient  to  reach  its  goal,  and  was  beating  itself 
against  its  mighty  barriers,  I  thought :  Yes,  it  is 
just  so  with  humanity ;  we  rush  forward  in  the 
struggle  for  supremacy,  we  beat  against  impassable 
barriers,  now  catching  our  breath  for  a  fresh  start, 
now  borne  onwaid  by  the  passing  wave  of  popular 


CRYSTAL   AND   GLEN  ELLIS  FALLS.      107 

applause,  again,  like  yonder  silent  eddy,  turning  in 
at  the  wayside  to  get  a  little  rest  before  we  leap  into 
the  unknown  beyond. 

"  Mister,  your  coat-tails  are  getting  wet !  "  This 
salutation  from  a  barefooted  urchin  below  me  — who 
with  a  sapling  as  youthful  as  himself  was  flinging 
his  line  across  the  stream  —  aroused  me  from  my 
meditations,  and  caused  me  to  take  a  more  literal 
look  at  things  present.  Wringing  the  moisture 
from  my  garment,  I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  less 
hazardous  position  where  I  had  left  our  party,  and 
who  were  patiently  awaiting  my  return. 

Retracing  our  steps,  we  were  soon  again  seated 
in  our  mountain  wagon,  and  bowling  along  at  a 
rapid  pace  for  the  Crystal  Cascade.  Here  a  much 
longer  walk,  but  for  which  we  were  well  repaid, 
awaited  us;  and  following  the  well-trodden  path, 
with  an  occasional  rest  on  a  wayside  seat,  we  were 
soon  within  sound  and  sight  of  this  beautiful  fall. 

What  a  contrast !  here  no  rude,  rushing,  rioting 
waters  plunge  seemingly  on  to  their  own  destruc- 
tion ;  but  gently  as  the  April  shower  falls  upon  the 
thirsting  earth  the  sparkling  waters  pause  upon  the 
precipice's  brink,  break  into  a  thousand  crystals, 
and,  as  if  fearing  to  disturb  the  calmer  depths 
below,  toy  with  each  other  in  their  slow  descent, 
reflecting  rainbow  glories  as  they  pursue  the  pris- 
matic gems  that  have  preceded  them. 


108        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"  Oh  !  how  restful,  how  soothing  ! "  came  from 
the  lips  of  the  one  I  had  been  closely  watching,  as 
she  turned  from  the  silvery  sheen,  and  looked  intc 
my  eyes.  "Could  any  thing  be  more  beautiful?" 
The  dancing,  happy  streamlet  waited  not  my  an- 
swer, but  sang  its  song  of  welcome,  and  dashed  its 
foamy  fleckness  at  our  tired  feet,  bringing  sweet 
repose  and  an  upward  thought  to  Him  who  at  crea- 
tion's birth  formed  these  glories,  and  gave  us  the 
sensibilities  to  appreciate  and  reverence  them  as 
the  work  of  his  hands.  And  so  we  gazed  in  silence, 

"  Knowing  that  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her,"  — 

until  the  shadows  of  evening  fell  upon  our  pathway, 
and  reminded  us  that  we  were  far  from  home. 
Gathering  a  few  mosses  from  the  river's  bank,  we 
bid  good-by  to  the  laughing  waters ;  and,  with 
hearts  brimful  of  thankfulness  for  the  enjoyment 
which  we  had  received,  we  sauntered  back  to  the 
roadside  where  our  impatient  horses  were  pawing 
the  ground,  eager  for  our  coming. 

Our  homeward  drive  was  joyous  and  happy ;  and 
to  the  question,  as  we  alighted  upon  the  piazza.,  of 
"  Now,  sir,  aren't  you  glad  you  staid  another  day  ?  " 
I  could  only  reply,  as  I  looked  into  those  gleaming 
eyes,  "  Yes,  very." 


CRYSTAL  AND   GLEN  ELLIS  FALLS.      109 

It  is  wonderful  how  naturally  one  takes  to  theii 
food,  and  what  a  relish  it  has,  on  these  vacation 
trips.  I  remember  how  many  times  I  have  come 
back  to  the  table,  after  finishing  my  hasty  meal,  to 
find  Charlie  passing  the  madam  another  bit  of  cold 
chicken,  and  the  madam  reciprocating  with  a  deli- 
cate slice  of  cold  beef;  then  I  would  indulge  in 
another  smoke,  and  come  again  to  find  them  gossip- 
ing over  the  third  cup  of  tea :  stanch  tea-drinkers 
they,  —  would  have  concealed  a  little  in  their  stock- 
ings, had  they  lived  in  the  rebellious  times  of  our 
forefathers.  But,  Charlie  having  left  us,  I  was 
obliged  on  this  occasion  to  remain,  and  do  the 
honors  at  the  supper-table  long  after  my  own 
slight  ( ?)  appetite  was  appeased.  "  How  can 
you?"  said  I,  as  one  choice  morsel  after  another 
disappeared. 

"  How  can  you,  after  witnessing  such  beautiful 
creations  of  nature,  descend  to  the  common  vulgar 
habit  of  eating?" 

"  How  can  I  ?  Should  not  the  mind  and  the 
body  maintain  a  just  equipoise?  (Another  trout, 
please.)  If  the  soul  is  filled  to  overflowing  with 
the  grandest  scenes  of  nature,  should  not  (the  dry 
toast,  thank  you,)  the  body  be  strengthened  to 
sustain  the  weight  of  so  much  mental  excite- 
ment? What  time  do  we  breakfast?" 


HO        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

My  answer  was  anticipated  by  our  watchful 
waiter;  and  I  fancied  I  noticed  the  faintest  sus- 
picion of  a  smile  lurking  about  the  corners  of  his 
ruby  lips,  as  he  removed  our  chairs.  I  would  not 
say  positively ;  but  I  think,  as  we  left  the  supper- 
room,  I  saw  that  smile  expand  into  a  grin,  as  with 
one  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  the  fingers  of  the 
other  wandering  abstractedly  through  his  curly 
wool,  he  surveyed  the  vast  array  of  empty  dishes 
spread  before  him. 

Had  his  thought  found  utterance,  we  should 
probably  have  heard  a  remark  something  like  this  : 
"  It's  nuthin'  to  me,  but  it  does  beat  de  debble ; 
dar's  suthin'  'bout  dese  ar  mountins,  dat  gibs  um 
all  a  big  appetite,  dat's  shore." 

To  the  piazza  again,  to  our  favorite  corner ;  and 
as  the  blue  vapors  from  my  fragrant  bowl  float 
upward  in  miniature  resemblance  to  those  which 
are  settling  down  upon  yonder  vales,  as  twilight 
fades  and  night  comes  on  apace,  we  fall  into  rev- 
ery :  silence  becomes  the  rule,  speech  the  excep- 
tion. 

But  I  do  remember  one  slight  diversion.  We 
were  both  gazing  intently  at  a  few  fleecy  flecks  of 
clouds  that  were  chasing  each  other  in  seeming 
playfulness  across  the  pathway  of  the  moon,  then 
at  its  silvery  roundness;  when,  turning  her  face 


CRYSTAL  AND   GLEN  ELLIS  FALLS,      ill 

from  that  of  Cynthia  to  mine,  the  madam  pro- 
pounded the  following  question  :  — 

"  Why  are  we  like  the  moon  ?  " 

Instantly  my  mind  went  travelling  into  the  past, 
seeking  to  recall  a  passage  from  some  favorite  poet 
that  should  answer  the  question.  But  in  vain :  I 
could  find  plenty  of  quotations ;  but  all  were  too 
sickly  sentimental,  too  "moony,"  for  our  time  of 
life,  and  at  last  I  gave  up  in  despair. 

Turning  towards  me  with  a  most  self- satisfying 
look,  though  breathing  a  contradictory  sigh,  — 

"We  are  like  the  moon,  my  dear,"  said  she, 
"because  we  are  full." 

Whenever  in  simple  truthfulness  I  have  related 
this  little  occurrence  to  a  circle  of  listening  friends, 
it  has  always,  by  the  madam,  been  emphatically 
denied;  and  the  last  time,  to  prove  the  whole 
story  an  invention  of  my  brain,  she  triumphantly 
produced  an  almanac  of  that  year,  and  showed  to 
the  listeners  that  on  the  evening  in  question  there 
was  no  moon,  at  least  within  range  of  our  vision. 

To  say  that  I  was  dumbfounded,  would  convey 
but  a  slight  idea  of  my  feelings.  With  the  remem- 
brance of  Luna's  silvery  brightness  as  she  shone 
upon  us  that  summer  evening,  and  the  sparkle  of  the 
madam's  eyes,  as  the  practical  answer  to  her  own 
query  came  from  her  lips,  and  to  gaze  into  them  as 


tI2        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

she  pointed  with  stubborn  finger  to  the  fatal  page, 
—  could  I  but  blush,  and  stand  amazed  ? 

Was  it  really  a  delightful  fiction  of  my  own,  told 
so  often  that  I  had  come  to  believe  it?  I  have 
heard  of  such  cases.  In  the  language  of  the  press, 
"  that  powerful  engine,"  —  et  cetera,  et  cetera,  —  the 
tide  of  popular  feeling  was  turning  toward  her,  and 
so  rapidly  that  in  the  face  of  the  proof  I  was  power- 
less ;  when,  in  turning  the  pages  of  the  yearly  chron- 
icler, I  made  a  discovery.  The  artless  (  ?)  one  had 
privately  pasted  the  covers  of  an  almanac  of  that 
year  upon  the  fresher  pages  of  the  present  one ; 
thus  seeking,  by  one  bold  stroke  of  generalship,  to 
banish  once  and  forever  all  further  allusion  to  the 
subject. 

One  cannot  sit  on  the  piazza  all  night,  any  more 
than  one  can  eat  all  day.  The  last  pipe  must  be 
smoked,  and  the  last  look  taken ;  and  so,  as  I 
knocked  the  ashes  from  my  bowl,  we  took  one 
good-night  look  at  the  grand  old  hills,  and  sought 
the  rest  that  was  needed  after  the  sight-seeing  of 
the  day. 

"  Tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  sleep," — 
"  Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  care,"  — 

unknits  rheumatic  stitches,  and  the  tangled  meshes 
of  an  active  brain ;  that  many  a  conscience-stricken 


CRYSTAL   AND   GLEN  ELLIS  FALLS.      113 

soul  would  fain  enjoy,  but  cannot ;  that  the  beggar 
finds  with  the  closing  of  his  eyes,  while  all  the 
courting  of  a  kingly  crown 

"  Can't  woo  her  to  his  bed." 

Sleep,  that  near  sister  to  the  silent  grave,  soon 
spread  her  mantle  over  us,  and  brought  sweet 
dreams.  I  am  not  so  sure  about  the  dreams  —  I 
had  forgotten  the  supper ;  but,  at  all  events,  we 
slept,  I  am  sure  of  that,  or  we  shouldn't  have  woke 
in  the  morning,  which  we  assuredly  did,  —  woke  to 
the  realizing  sense  that  we  were  to  take  an  early 
start,  and  that,  if  we  wished  to  take  any  thing  else, 
we  must  be  up  and  about  it.  As  it  was,  we  were  a 
little  late,  and  the  tangles  came  out  of  that  back 
hair  in  a  hurry  :  the  idea  of  losing  our  breakfast  — 
"oh!  monstrous  thought "  —  made  nimble  fingers 
active  fly. 

Good-by  to  you,  ye  cloud-capped  peaks ;  good- 
by  to  you,  ye  lesser  hills,  your  tops  new  glistening 
in  the  morning  sun;  good-by,  foaming  cataract 
and  purling  streams ;  good-by,  sweet  fields,  that, 

"  Beyond  the  swelling  flood, 
Stand  decked  in  living  green." 

Farewell !  but  we  shall  meet  again.  Summer's 
green  shall  change  to  autumn  tints  ;  winter  shall . 


114        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

wrap  with  whitest  covering,  and  chain  with  icy  fet- 
ters; but  a  budding  spring  and  another  summer 
shall  unveil  your  beauties,  unloose  your  bonds,  and 
bring  the  wanderers  back  once  more  to  behold 
your  glories. 

"  Driver,  we're  ready  :  drive  on." 


CHAPTER    X. 


GRAND    LARK. 

O  I  suppose,"  said  the  madam,  one 
bright  January  day,  as  I  entered  the 
library,  with  my  favorite  bamboo  rod 
in  my  hand ;  "  that  Mr.  McAtee's 
coming  to  see  you  has  aroused  your 
enthusiasm,  has  it  ?  " 

"Well,  partly  that,  and  partly  Edward  Seymour's 
paper  on  'Trout-Fishing  in  the  Rangeley  Lakes,'  in 
the  February  'Scribner.'  The  fact  is,  last  year's 
strain  on  this  old  friend  was  a  little  too  much  for 
its  strength  ;  and  it  has  got  to  visit  the  maker,  and 
be  overhauled." 

As  I  drew  from  the  case  its  several  joints,  and 
gazed  upon  them  with  the  air  of  satisfaction  and 
pleasure  which  a  sportsman  feels  when  handling 
some  tried  and  trusty  companion  of  his  joys,  was 
it  at  all  a  wonder  that  the  good  times  associated 

"5 


Il6        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

with  this  silent  though  lifelike  friend  should  come 
thronging  through  my  memory,  and  awake  once 
more  the  slumbering  past? 

Faithful  friend  !  what  wonder  that  these  slender 
joints  should  weaken  with  your  last  season's  work, 
—  fifty  land-locked  salmon,  with  their  twenty  times 
fifty  runs  and  leaps,  captured  with  thy  aid,  in  a 
single  day !  Is  it  not  asking  and  expecting  quite 
too  much  from  eight  and  a  half  ounces  of  split 
bamboo  ? 

"And  did  it  accomplish  such  a  feat?"  I  hear  you 
ask. 

It  did  ;  and  the  memory  of  that  day's  sport,  with 
many  others  akin  to  it,  has  tempted  me  once  more 
to  take  up  the  pen,  and,  by  the  warm  fireside,  look 
through  the  frosts  and  snows  of  January  back  to 
the  sunshine  and  showers  of  June. 

The. locality  of  which  I  am  about  to  write  is  no 
new  sportsman's  elysium.  The  shores  of  "  Grand 
Lake  Stream"  had  been  trod,  and  its  surface 
paddled  over,  by  the  ardent  fisher  and  his  Indian 
guide,  long  before  the  writer  stumbled  over  his 
A  B  C's;  and,  if  ever  a  shadow  of  discontent 
flitted  before  me  as  I  have  cast  my  flies  upon  its 
rushing  waters,  it  was  that  I  could  not  have  visited 
its  sylvan  shores  before  the  hand  of  civilization  had 
shorn  its  surroundings  of  many  of  its  beauties. 


GRAND  LAKE.  117 

There  is  —  and  in  our  day  and  generation  there 
will  be  at  least  —  good  fishing  and  hunting  far 
away  from  the  haunts  of  men ;  but  little  can  be 
found,  even  at  this  day,  near  enough  to  the  man  of 
business,  combining  every  thing  in  its  surroundings 
and  its  sport  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  the  true 
angler. 

I  think,  had  I  not  been  lured  from  the  salmon 
trout  of  the  Rangeleys,  by  stories  of  the  leaps  of 
the  land-locked  salmon  of  Grand  Lake  Stream,  the 
steamboat's  puffing  now  heard  breaking  the  stillness 
of  those  charming  waters  would  have  finished  me. 
And  yet  I  have  been  to  Grand  Lake  for  the  past 
four  years,  and  actually  have  swallowed  two  steam- 
boats and  —  on  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate  — 
one  tannery  every  year. 

I  reason  like  this  :  had  the  steamboats  followed 
me,  as  much  as  the  fishing  delights  and  charms,  I 
should  probably  have  "  folded  my  tent,"  as  many  a 
disheartened  sportsman  has  done  before  me,  "  and 
quietly  stole  away ;  "  but,  expecting  them  and  their 
accompaniments,  I  tolerate  them,  as  many  others 
are  willing  and  obliged  to,  for  fishing  that  cannot  — 
I  say  it  with  due  deliberation  —  be  excelled  in  the 
United  States. 

I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  true  sportsman  but 
that  enjoys  the  companionship  of  nature  nearly,  if 


Ii8        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

not  quite,  as  much  as  "the  fishing  itself.  One  with- 
out the  other  would  not  be  sufficient ;  and  for 
myself,  though  I  love  fly-fishing  next  to  my  wife 
and  children,  I  am  free  to  say  that  I  would  better 
enjoy  a  vacation,  with  them  about  me,  among  the 
hills  of  New  Hampshire,  leaving  the  rod  behind, 
than  taking  the  most  gamesome  fish  within  a  dozen 
miles  of  the  Hub. 

You  that  have  had  the  sweet  experience  of  the 
angler's  haunts  need  not  be  told  how  much  the 
solitary  dip  of  the  paddle,  the  unbroken  lines  of 
forest-trees,  their  clear-cut  shadows  in  the  placid 
lake,  and  the  cry  of  the  startled  loon,  add  zest  to 
your  enjoyment.  And  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me 
for  so  much  apparent  digression,  induced,  I  fear, 
somewhat  to  apologize  for  my  acquaintance  with 
the  before-mentioned  steamboats,  I  will  tell  those 
of  you  who  do  not  know,  as  well  as  those  who  do, 
the  whereabouts  of  these  famous  fishing-grounds, 
and  how  you  may  go  there  and  enjoy  only  a  bowing 
acquaintance  with  Robert  Fulton's  addition  to  our 
civilization. 

The  St.  Croix  River  forms  a  part  of  the  boundary- 
line  between  the  State  of  Maine  and  the  Province 
of  New  Brunswick.  It  has  two  branches,  each 
rising  in  a  chain  of  lakes  called  The  Schoodics, 
though  now  more  familiarly  known  as  the  Eastern 


GRAND  LAKE.  119 

and  Western  Grand  Lakes,  —  the  largest  lake  in 
each  chain  being  called  Grand  Lake.  Johnson, 
however,  on  his  map,  gives  the  name  of  the  largei 
Eastern  lake  as  The  Schoodic,  or  Grand  Lake.  In 
the  waters  of  all  these  lakes,  and  the  beautiful 
streams  connecting  them,  are  found,  in  goodly 
numbers,  that  mettlesome  and  much-discussed  fish, 
—  the  land-locked  salmon. 

The  eastern  chain  are  reached  by  the  North- 
American  and  European  Railroad,  from  Bangor, 
which  crosses  the  river  at  a  small  station  called 
St.  Croix,  where,  I  understand,  outfits  and  guides 
can  be  procured. 

It  is,  however,  with  the  western  chain  that  I 
propose  to  acquaint  you  by  the  aid  of  my  map, 
designed  and  executed  by  that  experienced  guide, 
scholar,  —  though  his  studies  have  been  from 
Nature,  not  books,  —  and  sportsman,  Tomah 
Joseph,  added  to  my  own  information,  picked  up 
in  five  seasons  of  sporting  on  its  waters. 

The  most  northerly  of  the  chain  is  Duck  Lake, 
about  twenty  miles  from  Winn,  Me.,  —  a  station  on 
the  railroad  before  mentioned.  Near  the  shore  of 
this  lake  resides  Mr.  Albert  Gowell,  a  sturdy 
farmer,  and  the  fisherman's  friend,  who  by  ap- 
pointment will  meet  you  at  Winn,  and  take  you 
to  the  lake ;  or  Mr.  Gates,  the  proprietor  of  the 


120        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

village  hotel,  —  an  obliging  and  agreeable  gentle- 
man,—  will  perform  for  you  the  same  service. 

Just  overlooking  this  charming  sheet  of  water,  a 
camp  has  been  recently  built,  owned,  and  occupied 
in  the  season,  by  the  Messrs.  Barber,  Davis,  and 
others,  of  Boston  and  vicinity,  where  a  sportsman's 
welcome  is  always  given  when  the  occupants  are 
"at  home." 

Duck  Lake  —  about  a  mile  and  a  half  in  length 

—  connects  with  Junior  Lake,  six  miles  in  length, 
by  Duck  Lake  Stream ;    at  the  left  of  Junior  lie 
Scragby  and  Pleasant  Lakes,  both  beautiful  sheets 
of  water.     On  the  right  of  Junior,  and  approached 
through  Junior  Stream  and  Compass  Thoroughfare, 
lie  Compass  Lake  and  the  two  Sisladobsis,  known 
more  familiarly  as  the  Dobseys,  where   the  well- 
known  "  Dobsey  Camp  "  is  situated. 

Passing  through  Junior  Stream,  about  two  and  a 
half  miles  in  length,  we  enter  Grand  Lake,  a  beauti- 
ful sheet  of  water,  twelve  miles  long ;  again,  Grand 
Lake  Stream,  three  miles  in  length,  connects  with 
Big  Lake,  Long  Lake,  and  Louis  Lake,  where  rises 
the  West  Branch  of  the  St.  Croix,  and  where  is  situ- 
ated the  village  of  Princeton,  Me. 

Here  one  can  take  the  railroad  —  twenty  miles 

—  to  Calais,  steamer  to  Eastport,  and  the  Inter- 
national Line  of  Steamers  to  Boston,  making,  in 


GRAND  LAKE. 


121 


good  weather,  a  very  pleasant  way  of  returning ; 
or,  at  Calais,  you  may  take  the  all-rail  route  through 
Bangor  to  Boston,  —  time,  twenty-four  hours. 

Now,  you  have  been  there  and  back,  in  your 
imagination ;  if  you  are  willing  to  follow  me  still 
farther,  or  rather  over  the  same  ground,  or  water, 
as  you  may  prefer,  at  a  somewhat  slower  pace,  I 
will  tell  you  how  I  once  went,  with  whom,  and,  by 
"an  honest  count,"  the  net  result  of  our  trip. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


HOW  NOT  TO    GO. 

LOUGHLY  blew  the  wind,  the  rain 
poured  in  torrents,  "the  waves 
rolled  mountains  high,"  and  the 
madam  lay  in  her  state-room,  oh  ! 
so  sick. 

"  Shall  I  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no,  no  !  " 
"  Or  a  lemon,  or  "  — 

"  No,  nothing,  nothing.  Oh  !  who  would  have 
thought  yesterday  that  we  should  be  tossed  about 
in  this  way?" 

And  indeed  who  would  ?  It  was  the  eighteenth 
of  June,  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-five,  the  day 
after  the  grand  Bunker-hill  centennial  celebration ; 
and  we  had  driven  to  the  International  steamer, 
through  streets  hung  with  banners  wet  and  droop- 
ing that  but  yesterday  waved  in  the  bright  sunlight 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  123 

as  thousands  of  the  flower  of  the  volunteer  militia 
of  the  United  States  passed  under  them. 

I  had  been  in  the  saddle  ten  hours  on  that  event- 
ful day,  spent  the  evening  in  packing  camp  luggage 
for  our  annual  fishing-trip  to  Grand  Lake,  and 
retired  thinking  that  our  pleasant  sail  on  the  mor- 
row would  give  us  ample  opportunity  for  much- 
needed  rest  and  recuperation. 

But,  alas  !  the  highly  old  and  respectable  firm  of 
Pluvius  and  Boreas  put  their  heads  together ;  and 
the  latter  so  stirred  up  the  former,  that  rest  and 
comfort  to  us  poor  landsmen  was  one  of  the  lost 
arts. 

We  were  pitching  along  through  a  heavy  sea,  a 
stiff  easterly  gale  blowing,  the  rocky  coast  outline 
being  scarcely  perceptible  through  the  mist  and 
rain. 

I  had  been  gazing  out  of  the  stateroom-window 
at  the  any  thing  but  inviting  prospect,  occasionally 
administering  a  few  crumbs  of  comfort  to  the  limp 
specimen  of  womanly  beauty  and  equal  rights  who 
lay  so  quietly  in  her  narrow  berth ;  when  at  her 
feeble  request  to  consult  the  officers  of  the  boat  as 
to  whether  there  might  be  or  was  a  presumptive, 
presumable,  plausible  probability  of  the  storm  let- 
ting up  a  little,  —  "  For,"  said  she,  "  if  I've  got  to  — 
stand  —  this  —  all  —  the  way  —  to  —  Eastport  —  I " 


124        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

—  and  then  she  quite  gave  out,  —  I  opened  the 
stateroom-door,  and  with  a  graceful  skip  and  a 
bound  landed  under  the  saloon-table  in  search  of 
the  captain. 

He  was  not  there,  however ;  and  so  I  picked  up 
a  modest  little  pin,  and  stuck  it  into  the  lappel  of 
my  coat,  and  came  up  smiling.  One  old  chap,  who 
stood  as  firm  as  though  he  was  planted,  smiled  too, 
a  sarcastic  smile  as  though  he  doubted  that  I  was 
really  after  that  pin  :  it  irritated  me,  and  I  felt  dis- 
posed to  be  pugilistic ;  but  my  better  feelings  tri- 
umphed, and  I  rushed  into  his  arms,  and  embraced 
him  like  a  long-lost  brother. 

By  means  of  forced  marches,  sudden  halts,  and 
an  occasional  "double-quick,"  I  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  forward  deck,  where  I  found  less  rain, 
but  more  wind  and  sea.  Here  I  also  found  one 
solitary  son  of  the  sea,  pacing  up  and  down,  seem- 
ingly very  comfortable  in  his  oil  jacket  and  sou'- 
wester. He  cast  his  eyes  in  such  a  knowing  man- 
ner at  the  clouds  and  round  the  various  quarters 
of  the  globe,  that,  although  I  felt  convinced  that  he 
was  not  the  captain,  I  was  sure  he  was  my  weather 
chronicler.  Having  secured  a  place  in  his  track, 
and  found  something  to  lean  against,  I  waited  till 
he  bore  down  upon  me,  then  hailed  him. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  weather,  sir? " 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  125 

"Thick.'1 

"  Thick?" 

"  And  nasty." 

This  was  certainly  a  very  decided  and  correct 
answer  to  my  question ;  but  wasn't  exactly  what  I 
was  after,  having  come  to  the  same  conclusion  my- 
self, though  I  don't  think  that  I  could  have  worded 
it  quite  so  expressively. 

Waiting  till  he  bore  down  again,  I  sent  him 
another  hail :  — 

" Do  you  think  she'll  clear  up,  sir?  " 

Somehow  I  had  the  idea  that  "  she  "  sounded  a 
little  more  sailor-like ;  but  when  he  stopped  short, 
and  looked  at  me,  I  wished  I  hadn't :  he  read  me. 

First  he  took  off  his  sou'wester,  shook  the  rain  off 
it,  put  it  on,  then  hitched  up  his  trousers,  shifted 
his  quid,  looked  at  me  again,  down  at  the  water, 
up  at  the  clouds,  then  nowhere  in  particular  but 
everywhere  in  general,  and  finall}r  delivered  himself 
of  this  opinion  :  — 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  it's  liable  to  be  a  nasty  night, 
sir :  the  wind's  piping  it  strong  from  the  east'ard ; 
blowed  so  all  last  night,  and  them  'ere  low  clouds 
'long  there  looks  ugly.  If  it  works  round  a  little 
more  to  the  nor'ard  and  east'ard,  sir,  I  reckon  'fore 
we  gets  into  Frenchman's  Bay  cups  and  sarcers 
will  rattle  sum." 


126        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

With  this  comforting  intelligence,  I  returned,  by  a 
circuitous  route,  to  "Stateroom  B,"  and  proceeded 
to  deliver  my  information  to  the  afflicted  one,  in 
truly  nautical  style ;  embellishing  it,  however,  suf- 
ficiently to  have  it  appear  to  my  own  mind,  that  it 
would  be  "  extra  hazardous  "  for  us  to  continue  on 
the  boat  farther  than  Portland,  which  city  happily 
we  were  now  approaching. 

Wishing  to  be  left  alone  to  try  and  sleep,  I  left 
the  feeble  one,  and  returned  again  to  the  deck,  to 
cultivate  the  more  intimate  acquaintance  of  my 
"  nor'  east  by  nor'  "  friend. 

I  found  he  had  been  joined  by  another  "  salt," 
who  was  pointing  to  a  low  ridge  of  rocky  coast, 
which  we  were  passing  within  easy  hailing-distance. 
Seeing  they  were  both  somewhat  excited,  I  man- 
aged to  get  near  enough  to  overhear  their  conver- 
sation. 

"  Now  Bill,  'spose  'tis  :  do  you  really  b'lieve  'tis 
buried  there?" 

"  B'lieve  it !  thar's  no  sort'er  doubt  on't.  I've 
seen  the  cap'n  p'int  it  out  ter  passengers  time  and 
time  ag'in ;  and  I  heard  him  tell  somebody  one 
night  when  I  was  on  watch,  that  he'd  had  a  man 
digging  there  for  a  month ;  the  chap  he  told  it  to, 
asked  him  if  he  commenced  to  dig  on  the  full  of 
the  moon ;  and  Cap.  said  he  didn't  know  'bout  that ; 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  127 

and  the  man  told  him  that  'twas  no  use,  unless  he 
did  :  he  was  sure  not  to  find  it." 

"The  captain  ought  to  knowed  that,"  responded 
the  new-comer. 

"  Knowed  it,  of  course  he  had !  everybody 
knows  Cap'n  Kidd  al'ers  buried  his  money  on  the 
full  'er  the  moon.  Cap'n  ought'er  know  better." 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  try  your  luck  some  time  ?  " 

"Ain't  I?  Ain't  I  savin' all  my  wages,  just  for 
that?  there  ain't  no  sorter  doubt,  there's  a  million 
dollars  buried  there,  —  it's  sure  as  truth ;  I'm 
watchin'  for  signs,  and,  when  they  come  right,  you 
bet  I'll  be  there  a-diggin'." 

The  appearance  of  the  mate,  with  an  order  for 
the  sailor,  interrupted  the  conversation  at  this 
point ;  but  I  had  heard  enough  to  interest  me.  I 
had  seen  another  locality  where  the  late  Capt. 
Kidd  had  buried  his  treasure.  When  I  was  a  boy, 
I  used  to  visit  with  awe  a  certain  spot  on  the  back 
of  Munjoy  Hill,  in  Portland,  where  many  a  man 
had  dug  and  dug  for  the  supposed  hidden  ducats 
of  this,  to  my  now  thinking,  much  over-estimated 
"bold  privateer." 

As  I  write  these  lines,  I  read  in  the  papers  of 
the  day,  that  the  people  in  the  vicinity  of  Coffin's 
Island,  near  New  Jersey,  have  gone  stark-staring 
mad  over  a  rumor,  a  report,  a.  tradition,  or  a  clair- 


128        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

voyant's  vision,  or  a  something  or  a  somebody,  who 
has  discovered  that  this  island  is  full  of  the  cap- 
tain's  gold. 

A  company  has  been  formed,  and  I  read  they 
intend  .digging  up  the  entire  island.  I  hope  they 
may  find  "millions  in  it,"  but  have  my  doubts. 
Two  hundred  years  is  a  long  time ;  and  Capt. 
Kidd  might  have  been  a  mythical  character,  or  at 
all  events,  if  he  was  not,  there  is  not  much  doubt 
but  what  his  buried  treasures  are  a  myth.  If  those 
Jersey  men  will  devote  themselves  to  planting  and 
then  digging  sweet  potatoes,  and  such  other  com- 
modities as  their  climate  encourages,  they  will 
probably  be  both  happier  and  richer  in  the  end, 
than  if  they  dug  up  Coffin's  Island,  and  shovelled  it 
into  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

Arriving  in  Portland  we  find  the  storm  increas- 
ing; and,  as  the  prospect  of  the  steamboat  pro- 
ceeding farther  that  night  seemed  a  faint  one,  we 
go  to  the  Falmouth  Hotel ;  and  on  the  morrow 
take  the  cars  for  Bangor  and  Forest  Station,  dis- 
tant about  two  hundred  miles,  where  we  were  told 
a  stage  would  be  found  to  take  us  across  the  coun- 
try to  Princeton,  distant  thirty  miles. 

We  arrive  there  at  noon ;  and  find  the  station 
and  the  forest,  for  which  it  is  so  happily  named, 
and  nothing  else.  Oh  !  yes,  —  the  stage  and  its 
driver. 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  129 

If  I  should  ask  you,  my  reader,  to  stop  here  for 
a  moment,  and  describe  that  stage,  you  would  prob- 
ably reply,  "  A  Concord  coach  with  yellow  trim- 
mings, with  four  well-groomed  horses  pawing  the 
ground,  impatient  to  begin  their  labors."  You 
wouldn't?  Oh!  you  know  better,  do  you?  You 
have  seen  some  of  these  country  coaches,  have 
you?  Then  you  would  say,  "A  clumsy,  well- 
muddied,  two-seated  wagon :  said  seats  covered 
with  buffalo-robes  strongly  reminding  one  of  Tom 
Hood's  poem  of  'The  Lost  Heir,'  with  but  two 
horses  'hitched'  to  it,  not  'pawing,'  and  not  at 
all  impatient  to  start ; "  and  now  you  think  you 
have  got  it,  don't  you  ? 

Well,  you  have  not,  with  all  your  wisdom.  "  Sea- 
son your  imagination  for  a  while,"  and  I  will  de- 
scribe that  conveyance,  its  driver,  what  it  was 
expected  to  carry  to  Jackson  Brook,  and  how  near 
it  came  to  fulfilling  its  mission. 

The  stage  was  an  ordinary  one -seated  wagon ; 
imprimis :  the  body  old  and  rickety,  the  seat  droop- 
ing and  shaky ;  the  forward  axle  sprung,  the  rear 
apparently  about  ready  to  spring ;  the  wheels  way- 
worn and  weary,  and  oh  !  so  tired.  The  motive- 
power,  one  horse,  a  modern  Rosinante ;  the  har 
ness,  from  bridle  to  crupper,  like  that  which  cov- 
ered Petruchio's  steed  when  he  went  to  woo  the 


130        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

fair  Katherine.  The  driver,  a  veteran  of  some 
eighteen  summers,  bold  and  self-possessed,  firm, 
but  modest.  There  you  have  them. 

The  passengers  to  be  carried,  —  a  lady  resident 
of  Princeton,  a  commercial  traveller,  madam,  and 
myself. 

The  baggage,  —  one  medium-sized  trunk,  one 
small  ditto,  one  canvas  tent,  one  stove  in  canvas, 
one  box,  one  case  of  fishing-rods,  several  hand- 
bags, and  one  package  of  samples. 

The  commercial  traveller  and  the  samples  re- 
mained at  Forest  Station :  the  balance  of  animate 
and  inanimate  freight  went  to  Jackson  Brook,  and 
in  this  way.  The  seat  was  moved  forward  to  the 
very  front  of  the  wagon,  the  baggage  was  all  stowed 
away  in  the  rear :  the  two  ladies  mounted  the  seat ; 
madam  handled  the  ribbons,  and  thus  we  started. 

"Yes,  but  yourself  and  the  driver?" 

"  Oh  !  we  walked  behind  the  wagon." 

The  road  was  poor,  and  the  load  a  reasonably 
heavy  one  for  one  horse  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  rear-guard,  who  under  the  most  favorable  cir- 
cumstances could  hardly  have  been  expected  to 
trot,  any  thing  faster  than  a  walk  was  positively  out 
of  the  question,  and  we  walked. 

I  have  always  held  that  the  writer  of  travels 
should  lean  decidedly  towards  the  truth,  and  saving 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  131 

in  some  harmless  imagination  never  o'erstep  its 
boundares;  and  truth  compels  me  to  state  that 
there  was  nothing  on  this  ride  of  three  miles,  in  the 
way  of  scenery  or  of  rural  homes,  to  excite  our 
admiration  or  turn  our  thoughts  from  the  discom- 
forts of  the  situation.  Truth  also  compels  me  to 
say  that  I  beguiled  my  time  by  lying  to  the  driver. 
It  was  rather  a  mean  advantage,  considering  his 
age,  I  admit ;  but  I  was  drawn  into  it  by  a  flattering 
remark  from  the  youth,  and  the  fact  that 

"  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still, 
For  idle  hands  to  do." 

The  madam  had  very  dexterously  avoided  a 
mud-hole  on  one  side,  and  a  huge  stone  on  the 
other,  which  caused  the  lad  to  say,  — 

"  She  kin  drive,  she  kin." 

"  She  ought  to,  brought  up  to  it,  sir ;  broke  colts 
when  she  was  young ;  can  ride  any  horse  in  the 
world,  do  any  thing  with  them ;  born  to  it." 

"  Sho  !  "  (walking  round  to  the  side  of  the  wagon 
to  get  a  good  look.)  "  Is  she  your  woman?  " 

"  My  wife,  sir." 

"What  else  can  she  do?" 

"  Shoots  a  little." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"  On  the  whig  entirely,  sir ;  bags  her  game  every 


132        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

time,  rarely  misses.  It  would  make  you  open  your 
eyes  to  see  her  handle  a  rifle ;  got  a  natural  instinct 
for  shooting." 

"  Well,  I  swow  !    Can  she  fish  ?  " 

"Fish?  you  ought  to  see  her:  that's  her  best 
hold.  Why,  she  can  paddle  a  canoe,  strike  a  trout, 
and  net  him,  all  at  the  same  time." 

"  I  reckon  some  of  our  fellers  would  just  like  to 
see  her." 

"  Yes,  but  you  should  hear  her  sing  and  play  the 
flute,  and  talk  eleven  different  languages  :  then-  you 
would  begin  to  think  she  knew  something."  And 
so  I  went  on  like  a  villain,  while  his  jaw  dropped, 
and  his  eyes  rolled  in  wonder,  until  I  began  to 
"eel  that  the  earth  might  open  and  swallow  me. 

After  a  while  even  this  choice  amusement  failed 
to  amuse,  and  we  plodded  along  in  silence,  up  hill 
and  down,  I  quieting  my  conscience  by  the  thought 
that  he  couldn't  possibly  believe  my  Munchau- 
sens  j  but  I  am  afraid  he  did,  for  when  at  last  the 
dismal  ride  and  walk  had  come  to  an  end,  and  our 
fares  were  to  be  paid,  he  pointed  to  the  heroine 
of  rod,  rifle,  and  rein,  and  said  with  an  air  of  pro- 
found veneration,  — 

"  I  sha'n't  take  nothin'  for  her." 

Then  my  conscience  smote  me  so  hard  that  I 
insisted  on  full  payment,  and,  as  I  bid  the  youth 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  133 

good-by,  remarked  that  perhaps  I  had  somewhat 
overrated  my  wife's  sporting  accomplishments ;  but 
he  was,  I  fear,  too  firmly  fixed  to  be  shaken. 

At  Jackson  Brook,  a  little  village  of  probably  two 
hundred  inhabitants,  we  dined. 

The  tavern  was  neat  and  comfortable.  While 
we  were  waiting  for  our  dinner  to  be  prepared,  we 
had  ample  time  to  rest,  and  make  comments. 

I  will  describe  the  furnishing  of  the  sitting-room, 
to  the  best  of  our  united  remembrances,  as  it  may 
bring  to  the  recollection  of  the  reader  some  room 
similarly  adorned  where  in  bygone  days  he  or  she 
may  have  passed  a  pleasant  hour. 

A  rag-carpet ;  two  round  braided  mats ;  a  melo- 
deon,  on  which  lay  several  well-worn  sacred  tune- 
books ;  a  high-backed,  wooden-seated  rocking- 
chair  ;  several  straight-backed  wooden  chairs 
painted  in  black,  with  yellow  ornamentation ;  a 
Franklin  fireplace  filled  with  a  tasteful  collection 
of  green  branches ;  a  high  mantle-piece  adorned 
with  two  plaster-of- Paris  parrots,  in  green  and  yel- 
low plumage,  a  vase  of  lilacs,  and  one  of  syringas  ; 
above  them,  looking  down  upon  the  peaceful  scene, 
a  highly  colored  print  of  Grant  and  his  Generals  ; 
on  the  table,  covered  with  a  red  embossed  cloth, 
a  Bible,  hymn-book,  one  or  two  secular  volumes, 
Robert  B.  Thomas's  Almanac,  and  a  copy  of  "  The 
New  York  Ledger." 


134        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Thus  you  will  see  a  general  air  of  neatness  and 
taste  pervaded  the  modest  apartment. 

The  bedrooms  of  these  country  taverns,  one  or 
more  of  which  are  found  in  every  little  village,  are 
usually  neat  and  tastily  furnished  :  but  the  beds 
are  bad,  the  food  and  cooking,  to  the  city  taste, 
abominable  ;  for  which  reason  we  prefer  camp-life, 
our  bed  of  boughs,  and  our  guide's  proficiency  in 
the  culinary  art. 

A  rather  stronger  horse  and  a  two -seated  wagon, 
with  a  change  of  horse  at  Topsfield,  carried  us  the 
rest  of  our  journey  to  Princeton,  about  twenty 
miles ;  not  a  pleasant  ride,  although  the  day  was 
fine,  for  we  felt  that  we  were  too  mucli  of  a  load 
for  the  patient  animals. 

The  only  object  of  special  interest,  aside  from 
being  questioned  by  nearly  every  one  we  met,  as  to 
the  cause  of  a  dense  smoke  which  filled  the  air, 
completely  shutting  out  the  scenery  about  us,  and 
which  we  knew  as  little  about  as  they,  was  a  horse- 
man who  passed  us  at  a  rapid  rate,  turned,  came 
back,  and  inquired  the  distance  to  a  certain  house 
on  our  road. 

"That  man,"  said  our  driver,  as  he  rode  away, 
"  is  as  blind  as  a  bat :  he  tunes  pianos  and  melo- 
deons,  and  he  goes  round  this  country  as  you  see 
him  now." 


HOW  NOT  TO   GO.  135 

Just  then  he  turned  his  horse,  a  beautiful  black 
colt,  out  from  the  road,  rode  up  to  the  door  of  a 
cottage  some  little  distance  off,  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  a  couple  of  girls,  turned,  and  passed 
down  the  road  before  us  on  a  rapid  canter,  and  was 
soon  lost  to  our  sight. 

It  seemed  hard  to  believe  the  evidence  of  our 
senses ;  but,  after  all,  it  was  only  another  illustra- 
tion of  the  acuteness  acquired  by  the  remaining 
senses,  when  one  or  more  are  lost. 

I  suggested  to  the  driver  that  his  horse  must 
know  him,  and  be  strongly  attached  to  him. 

"  Know  him,"  he  replied  :  "  I  guess  he  does  ;  that 
hoss  knows  he's  blind  just  as  well  as  I  do." 

And  perhaps  he  did. 

Thankful  and  happy  were  we  when  just  at  dusk 
we  stepped  from  our  "stage"  upon  the  piazza  of 
the  hotel,  and  were  met  by  our  Indian  guide,  whose 
greeting  was  cordial  and  welcome  :  — 

"  Here  at  last,  Tomah." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TOMAH   JOSEPH. 

|UST  a  few  evenings  since,  I  read  in 
my  "Transcript"  the  following  ex- 
tract, which  most  readers  would 
have  passed  unnoticed  ;  which  hav- 
ing perused,  I  leaned  back  in  my 
chair,  and  laughed  so  heartily  that  I 
had  to  explain  myself,  and  so  I  read  this, 
aloud :  — 

"  The  Passamaquoddy  Indians  are  represented  at 
Augusta,  Me.,  by  their  delegate  Tomah  Joseph,  who 
presented  a  petition  for  a  road  from  Big  Lake  to 
Grand  Lake  Stream,  fifty  dollars,  a  priest,  a  stove, 
a  chimney,  and  a  dance-hall." 

Shades  of  the  departed  !  whose  mantle  has  fallen 
upon  thee,  Tomah,  that  we  should  thus  behold  thee 
in  this  new  sphere  of  usefulness  ? 

Whence  the  vaulting  ambition  that  led  thee  to 
136 


TOM  AH  JOSEPH.  137 

forsake  thy  happy  hunting-grounds  for  the  halls  of 
legislation  ? 

And  now,  forsooth,  instead  of  "Joe,  you  Injun, 
pass  the  net,"  it  must  be  :  "  Will  the  honorable  gen- 
tleman from  Peter  Denis's  Point  assist  me  to  land 
this  salmon?" 

But  one  thought  affords  me  consolation  in  this 
trying  affliction. 

It  was  my  boots  that  trod  those  legislative  halls. 
It  was  my  waistcoat  that  swelled  with  natural  pride 
when  the  speaker  recognized  the  delegate  from  the 
Passamaquoddy  tribe. 

Tomah  Joseph,  the  son  of  his  father  who  still  at 
an  advanced  age  occasionally  acts  as  guide,  is  now 
about  forty  years  of  age,  is  himself  father  of  several 
embryo  guides,  and  as  'cute  an  Indian  as  ever  pad- 
dled a  canoe.  To  enumerate  his  several  accom- 
plishments in  his  particular  line,  would  require 
more  space  than  we  can  afford  to  give  him  at  this 
time.  In  casting  a  fly  I  have  never  seen  him  ex- 
celled, scarcely  equalled.  In  mending  rods  he  is 
an  adept.  I  think,  after  seeing  him  run  the  rapids 
on  the  stream,  Mr.  Murray  would  preach  a  sermon 
from  that  text. 

The  flute  is  Joe's  evening  companion  ;  and  to  its 
sweet  music  the  dusky  maidens,  and  their  happy 
partners  move  gayly  in  the  merry  dance,  or  the  tired 


138        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

fisherman  reposing  upon  the  bank  after  a  day  of 
pleasant  toil  is  often  soothed  to  rest  by  its  softest 
notes. 

If  it  should  ever  happen  that  Joe  should  read 
this  allusion,  —  which  he  probably  never  will,  for  two 
reasons ;  first  because  he  can't  read,  and  secondly 
being  too  old  to  learn,  —  he  would,  I  fear,  never  for- 
give me  for  saying  that  he  was  a  trifle  lazy :  such, 
however,  is  the  fact.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  he 
would  shirk  any  real  duty ;  but  if  he  had  any  heavy 
job  on  hand  he  would  somenow  manage  to  make 
you  see  that  it  were  best  not  to  do  it  at  all,  or  sug- 
gest some  plan  by  which  a  somewhat  similar  result 
might  be  reached  with  less  manual  labor. 

It  is  rather  amusing  now,  to  look  back  and  think 
how  he  had  his  way  on  many  of  our  little  excur- 
sions when  I  fondly  supposed  I  was  having  my 
own. 

Willing  to  indulge  in  a  little  "  fire-water  "  when 
asked,  I  never  knew  him  to  ask  for  it,  or  to  obtain 
it  elsewhere  when  acting  as  my  guide. 

Quick  to  take  a  joke,  good  at  repartee,  and 
withal  brighter  than  the  average  white  man  in 
"those  parts,"  Tomah  not  only  fulfilled  every  thing 
required  of  him  in  his  position,  but  was  always  the 
best  of  company. 

When  in  deep  thought  he  has  a  habit  of  stroking 


TOM  AH  JOSEPH.  139 

his  chin  with  his  thumb  and  fingers,  as  if  feeling  foi 
whiskers  which  he  never  found. 

He  was  doing  this  about  eight  o'clock  the  morn- 
ing after  our  arrival  at  Princeton,  as  we  stood  on  the 
little  wharf  at  Louis  Lake  with  quite  a  pile  of  traps 
lying  about  us. 

"  That's  a  stove,  you  say,  in  that  canvas,  Mr. 
Stevens?" 

"  Yes,  that's  a  stove,  camp-stove." 

"  And  that  big  canvas  bag's  got  your  bedding  in 
it,  humph?" 

"Yes." 

"  Ugh  !  Twouldn't  do  to  get  them  wet,  would 
it  ?  The  birch  might  leak  going  up,  and  it  might 
be  "  (scratching  his  head  a  little)  "  safer  to  "  — 

"To  what,  Joe?" 

"  I  was  thinking,  we  might  send  'em  up  on  the 
steamer." 

"What  will  it  cost?" 

"  Oh  !  a  quarter." 

"  All  right :  take  them  over  to  the  boat."  Which 
he  did  not  exactly  do,  but  went  over  to  where  the 
boat  lay,  and  returned  with  the  captain  and  engi- 
neer who  compose  the  crew ;  and  they  transfer  all 
our  plunder,  with  the  exception  of  my  rods  and  a 
small  satchel  or  two,  to  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

"How's  this,  Tomah?" 


140        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"  Got  him  to  take  it  all  for  a  quarter."  Now,  that 
was  a  fair  illustration  of  Joe's  shrewdness.  He 
knew  that  if  he  had  proposed  to  send  all  our  bag- 
gage up  by  boat,  I  should  have  thought  him  lazy, 
and  the  expense  greater  than  it  was,  and  unneces- 
sary. The  upshot  was,  that  the  luggage  got  to  the 
top  of  Missionary  Hill,  where  we  were  to  camp, 
without  his  handling  twenty  pounds  of  it. 

The  day  was  fine,  and  we  had  before  us  twelve 
miles  of  canoeing.  Our  route  lay  through  Louis 
Lake,  Long  Lake,  and  Big  Lake.  Very  prettily  sit- 
uated on  the  shore  of  the  latter  is  one  of  the  vil- 
lages of  the  remnant  of  the  Passamaquoddy  tribe 
of  Indians,  the  residence  of  Joe,  and  many  other 
guides  of  note. 

I  have  been  a  good  deal  of  a  traveller  in  my  life, 
and  have  journeyed  in  many  different  conveyances, 
both  by  land  and  water,  on  business  or  pleasure.  I 
hardly  think  you  could  mention  one  in  use  in  our 
country  in  which  I  have  not  travelled  more  or  less, 
from  a  canal-boat  to  an  ocean-steamer,  from  a 
buckboard  to  a  Pullman  car.  Once  in  my  life  I 
tried  ballooning,  but  only  for  the  matter  of  a  couple 
of  thousand  feet  with  a  good  stout  cable  attached 
to  the  air-ship. 

I  can  truly  say  that  I  know  no  manner  of  loco- 
motion more  exciting  and  exhilarating,  more  restful 


TOMAH  JOSEPH.  14* 

and  refreshing,  as  the  case  may  be,  than  canoe- 
ing. 

You  sit  in  the  bow  of  the  birch,  on  comfortable 
robes,  with  one  at  your  back,  with  your  face  to  the 
front,  a  trolling- lint,  in  your  hand,  your  rifle  or  re- 
volver within  easy  reach,  your  pipe  in  your  mouth, 
and  you  are  ready  for  repose  or  excitement. 

A  bend  in  the  stream  or  lake  unfolds  new  beau- 
ties to  your  view ;  you  gaze  dreamily  upon  the  far- 
away mountain-tops  and  the  unbroken  forests  with 
their  different  shades  of  green.  You  are  recalled 
to  your  senses  by  the  cry  of  an  erratic  loon  :  you 
scan  the  calm  surface  of  the  lake  until  your  eye 
seeks  him  out ;  but  the  quick-sighted  Indian  has 
seen  him  before  you,  and  a  few  strong  sweeps  of  his 
paddle  send  us  flying  towards  him. 

He  is  down,  he  is  up  again,  and  a  bullet  goes 
whizzing  after  him  ;  it  misses,  of  course,  and  down 
he  goes  to  be  greeted  with  another  when  he  rises  : 
after  an  exciting  chase  and  a  few  more  harmless 
shots,  we  permit  him  to  rest,  and  pursue  our  onward 
course.  And  now  a  strong  pull  from  behind  gives 
us  a  new  sensation  ;  and  with  an  "I've  got  him,"  we 
pull  alongside  a  handsome  salmon.  The  guide 
slips  the  net  under  him,  and  we  feast  our  eyes  upon 
this  king  of  the  waters.  Oh  !  this  is  unalloyed  hap- 
piness :  care  comes  not  here.  With  a  clear  con- 


142        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

science  within,  bright  sunshine  without,  the  sparkling 
waters  below,  and  God's  pure  sky  above,  one  can 
almost  say  with  the  sacred  poet,  — 

"  There  can  I  bathe  my  weary  soul 

In  seas  of  heavenly  rest, 
And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roll 
Across  my  peaceful  breast." 

We  are  now  in  sight  of  our  landing,  have  enjoyed 
every  moment  of  our  sail.  Just  as  we  pass  from 
the  lake  into  the  stream,  Joe,  who  sees  every  thing, 
stops  paddling,  says,  "  Sh  !  look,"  and  pointing  with 
his  paddle  we  descry,  at  the  top  of  a  decaying  tree 
of  immense  size,  "  the  proud  bird  of  our  country," 
an  American  eagle.  He  sees  us  at  about  the  same 
moment,  but  does  not  like  the  cut  of  our  jib,  for  he 
stretches  his  wings,  and  soars  away. 

We  were  glad  to  see  him  in  repose,  but  his  flight, 
grand  and  majestic,  was  a  more  sublime  sight. 

"  A  good  omen,  Joe,"  said  I,  as  the  canoe 
touched  the  bank,  and  we  prepared  to  disembark. 

"  Yes,  that  means  plenty  salmon." 

Getting  out  of  a  canoe,  and  preserving  your  equi- 
librium, is  no  easy  matter  to  the  uninitiated ;  and 
my  advice  to  such  is,  don't  hurry,  take  it  coolly. 
The  madam  hurried  once,  or  made  a  misstep,  and 
when  I  turned  to  assist  her  she  lay  on  her  back  by 


TOMAff  JOSEPH.  143 

the  shore  of  the  stream,  but  no  harm  came  of  it : 
two  strong  Indians  fished  her  out,  and  I  —  Well, 
I'm  afraid  I  stood  on  the  bank,  and  laughed  "  shuste 
a  leetle  bit." 

The  stage,  this  time-  a  lumbering  two-seated 
wagon  with  two  strong  horses,  is  awaiting  us ;  our 
luggage,  having  reached  here  before  us,  is  snugly 
stowed,  all  but  one  box  of  stores  which  we  left  on 
the  steamer  at  Portland  to  follow  us.  Our  canoe 
is  firmly  lashed  to  the  side  oi  the  wagon ;  we 
mount  to  our  seats,  and  rattle  off  at  a  comfortable 
pace,  on  our  ride  of  three  miles  to  our  headquar- 
ters at  the  foot  of  Grand  Lake. 

We  decide  to  pitch  our  camp  on  "Missionary 
Hill."  Why  missionary,  I  don't  know.  We  select 
this  spot  because  Tomah  says,  "  Good  breeze,  few 
flies."  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  if  Joe  were 
engaged  to  cook  a  fortnight  for  a  party  expecting 
to  encamp  there,  he  would  now  say,  "  Bad  place, 
sun  hot,  flies  thick,  mosquito  he  bite,  midges,  ugh  !  " 
The  fact  is,  Joe  found  it  too  much  up-hill,  and  I 
think  we  all  did.  Jim  Coffin's  front  yard  is  a  better 
spot. 

Camp  "  Prouty,"  a  name  familiar  to  all  lovers  of 
the  angle,  as  that  of  a  gentleman  well  versed  in  the 
fisher's  art,  built  by  a  gentleman  from  Calais,  Mr. 
Sawyer,  now  occupies  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and 


144        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

with  its  out-buildings  covers  what  was  the  best 
camping-ground ;  so  that  the  white  canvas  of  the 
fisher's  tents,  with  floating  flags,  so  pretty  a  sight  to 
one  coming  down  the  lake,  will  in  future  be  rarely 
seen. 

Here  we  are  at  last  at  our  journey's  end ;  and 
now  to  getting  into  camp.  We  have  two  tents,  one 
with  a  fly  for  sleeping,  and  the  other  our  mess-tent, 
also  a  canvas  canopy  to  protect  our  stove. 

Twelve  miles  of  paddling  in  smooth  water  is  play 
for  an  Indian  ;  but  now,  Joe,  you  have  got  to  do  a 
little  work 

But  Joe  knows  what  to  do  first ;  finds  his  axe, 
leans  on  it  a  few  minutes,  strokes  his  chin,  scratches 
his  head,  looks  at  each  point  of  the  compass,  sur- 
veys the  ground,  gives  us  a  bit  of  advice  where  to 
pitch  our  tents,  whistles,  and  disappears  in  the 
woods  close  at  hand. 

While  the  driver,  "Son"  Ripley,  unloads,  we 
survey  the  ground,  unroll  the  tents,  and  bring  to 
light  our  new  camp-stove.  Soon  Joe  returns,  drag- 
ging after  him  enough  poles  to  establish  a  good- 
sized  hop-garden,  and  our  work  commences. 

But  Toman's  quick  eyes  have  discovered  the 
stove,  and  he  drops  his  axe,  and  goes  down  on  all- 
fours  to  interview  it;  he  soon  has  it  apart,  and  han- 
dles every  piece,  from  the  lifter  to  the  oven. 


TOM  AH  JOSEPH.  145 

When  he  sees  its  contents,  —  pails,  pans,  legs, 
funnel,  plates,  knives,  forks,  spoons,  toaster,  coffee- 
pot, tea-kettle,  covers,  and  all  which  were  packed 
within  it,  now  lying  about  covering  a  world  of 
space,  we  know  he  is  surprised,  excited;  but  he 
does  not  show  it,  —  the  same  stolid  Indian  gaze, 
every  bit  of  it. 

"Well,  Joe,  ever  seen  the  like  of  that  before? " 

"  Never  !  " 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  Can't  cook  with  that ;  don't  believe  it'll  work  !  " 
another  stroke  of  the  chin.  "  Guess  I  better  use  the 
old  fireplace,  and  let  Mrs.  Stevens  and  you  run 
that."  ' 

"  Not  much,  you  ignorant  Injun  :  you'll  swear  by 
that  stove  before  you  get  through,  old  boy." 

"Swear  at  it,  I  reckon." 

But  when  as  the  sun  went  down  we  were  enjoy- 
ing our  first  good  'meal  for  three  long  days,  —  fried 
salmon,  fried  potatoes,  bacon  and  eggs,  with  a 
splendid  cup  of  tea,  and  the  minor  accompani- 
ments, all  cooked  in  a  superior  manner,  by  that  dis- 
trusted stove,  —  Joe  relented. 

Instead  of  a  quarter  of  a  cord  of  fuel,  he  had 
used  but  a  few  pieces  of  hemlock-bark,  and  as 
many  sticks  of  wood.  He  surveyed  the  object  of 
his  distrust  for  a  moment,  walked  about  it,  gazed 


146        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

upward  at  the  thin,  curling  smoke  issuing  from  the 
funnel,  strode  to  the  tent  where  we  were  eating, 
with  a  bread-pan  in  one  hand,  and  the  toaster  in 
the  other,  and  thus  unbosomed  himself :  — 

"  Mr.  Stevens,  I  give  it  up :  that  just  beats  any 
thing  I  ever  saw ;  I  could  cook  for  ten  men  with 
that  stove  ;  she's  a  ripper." 

And  Joe  told  the  truth. 

The  afternoon  was  spent  in  preparing  camp,  and 
by  the  time  that  darkness  came  we  were  ready  for 
it;  our  bed  in  order,  with  the  mosquito-canopy 
spread.  "  Good-night,  Tomah :  we  have  done  a 
good  afternoon's  work,  and  you  may  sleep  in  the 
morning." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RUNNING   THE   RAPIDS. 

O  longer  sits  the  wind  in  the  east. 
For  three  and  twenty  days,  almost 
without  intermission,  had  that  scourge 
of  our  New-England  spring  (  ?),  the 
east  wind,  been  blowing  upon  the 
Hub. 

Like  colors  nailed  to  the  mast,  the  vanes  of 
orthodox  and  heterodox  churches  alike  seemed 
firmly  fixed,  and  unalterable  as  the  laws  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians. 

We  went  about  through  the  fog,  mist,  and  rain, 
poor  "  demnition  moist  bodies  :  "  it  penetrated  our 
pores,  it  ached  our  joints,  it  froze  our  marrow,  it 
made  us  wheeze,  it  made  us  sneeze ;  and  only  by 
thinking  of  its  source,  and  its  refreshing  coolness 
on  a  hot  July  afternoon,  could  we  refrain  from 
wrathful  words. 


148        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINP   LAKES. 

And  now  what  wonder  that  we  feel  the  blood 
rush  tingling  through  our  veins,  as  we  stand  on  the 
brow  of  Missionary  Hill  this  glorious  June  morning, 
and  drink  in  the  invigorating  draughts  of  a  freshly 
rising  western  breeze  ? 

The  lake  feels  its  influence ;  and  at  our  feet  its 
rippling  waves  dance  with  delight,  and  mingle  their 
low  murmur  with  the  rustling  leaves. 

Up  comes  the  sun,  "dispelling  the  mists,  driving 
the  shadows  far  back  upon  the  hills. 

We  hail  the  new-born  day  :  we  rejoice  in  the 
glad  sunlight ;  the  clear  atmosphere  makes  us  light 
of  heart ;  we  stretch  out  our  arms  to  embrace  dear 
old  mother  Nature,  and  we  exult  in  our  freedom. 

We  shout,  and  the  wooded  hills  send  back  their 
echoes  ;  we  sing  (the  madam),  and  the  warblers  of 
the  wood  assist  in  the  chorus ;  we  snuff  the  odor  of 
the  hemlock  and  the  pine  :  and,  oh !  human  na- 
ture, something  else, 

"Bacon." 

Bob  Southey's  "  Jacob  "  would  ne'er  "  turned  up 
his  nose  in  scornful  curve  at  yonder  pig,"  had  he 
breakfasted  on  "  Joseph's  "  bacon. 

With  each  foot  firmly  planted  on  its  parent  soil. 
Joe  stands  a  statue ;  the  frying-pan  upon  the  stove 
before  him,  the  bacon  sizzling  and  gurgling  in  its 
fatty  bed.  An  egg  in  his  hand  is  ready  to  be  brok- 


RUNNING    THE  RAPIDS.  149 

en,  and  add  its  country  freshness  to  the,  sportsman's 
morning  meal.  But  Joseph  moves  not;  he  has 
caught  the  savory  smell ;  his  nostrils  expand  under 
its  bewitching  influence  ;  his  chest  upheaves  as  he 
draws  in  each  willing  breath  ;  his  — 

"  Joe,  will  you  turn  that  bacon  ?  " 

The  statue  moves,  and  the  egg  falls  to  the  ground 
lost  to  us  forever. 

Excuse  me,  gentle  reader,  for  dwelling  upon  this 
subject ;  but  health  and  happiness  depend  so  much 
upon  a  good  appetite  and  proper  food,  that,  should 
you  decide  to  test  the  enjoyment  of  camp-life,  do 
not  neglect  to  provision  yourself  before  starting. 

Salt  pork  and  Indian  meal  are  indispensable : 
bacon  is  a  luxury.  Calculate,  to  a  nicety,  just  what 
you  think  your  party  will  need  of  each  :  multiply 
the  quantity  by  two,  and  then  double  the  amount 
of  bacon. 

"You  don't  like  bacon?" 

Why,  man  alive  !  your  education  is  incomplete  : 
improve  it.  If  you  must  go  down  to  your  grave 
unhonored  and  unsung,  pray  do  not  go  unbacon- 
ized. 

On  a  par  with  bacon,  and  not  to  be  overlooked 
or  forgotten,  are  Bermuda  onions. 

Oh  !  reader,  turn  not  up  in  scorn  thy  sensitive 
nose ;  confess  to  me  now,  that  you  do  sometimes 


150        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

eat  them  at  your  own  table.  I  am  sure  I  do,  but 
not  with  beefsteak :  either  in  themselves,  but  not 
united. 

In  camp,  slice  them  raw,  cover  with  vinegar,  and 
add  a  little  pepper  and  salt ;  they  are  better  than 
all  the  fancy  pickles  that  ever  Crosse  &  Blackwell 
stamped  with  their  signature  :  and  those,  you  know 
are  good. 

One  day,  a  friend  of  ours  from  the  city,  an  old 
Umbagog  fisherman,  dropped  in  upon  us,  and  right 
glad  were  we  to  greet  him.  He  had  secured  board 
and  lodging  at  one  of  the  few  villagers  near  our 
camp. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day,  a  little  girl  from 
the  house  called  upon  us,  with  the  request,  — 

"Would  you  sell  my  mother  some  onions?" 

"  No,  my  child,  but  we  will  give  your  mother  a 
few  ;  "  and  she  thanked  us  with  maiden  simplicity, 
and  departed. 

As  the  shadows  of  evening  fell,  our  friend  came 
to  us  to  talk  over  the  result  of  his  first  day's  sport, 
to  say  "  Good-by,  Umbagog,"  and  to  tell  us  how 
his  lines  had  fallen  in  pleasant  places,  what  a  cap- 
ital house  he  was  staying  at,  how  well  he  fared. 

"  Yes,  boys  !  the  living  is  just  splendid  ;  for  sup- 
per we  had  fried  salmon,  boiled  salmon,  fried  pota- 
toes, baked  potatoes,  good  bread,  and  —  would  you 


RUNNING   THE  RAPIDS.  151 

believe  it,  way  down  here,  in  these  woods,  what  do 
you  think?  —  sliced  Bermuda  onions.". 

The  mistress  of  that  modest  mansion  knew  a 
fisherman's  tastes.  Take  all  you  require,  my  friend, 
and  a  few  to  give  away.  Injun,  he  like  'em,  too. 

You  would  not  forget  your  coffee,  —  Mocha  and 
Java  equally  mixed,  I  hope  suits  your  taste  ;  it  does 
mine  :  but  you  might  not  think  of  condensed  milk. 

"  What !  go  to  the  country,  and  use  condensed 
milk ! " 

Yes,  for  your  coffee ;  try  it  at  home  or  abroad, 
and  you  will  find  that  it's  much  better  than  milk, 
and  better  than  city  cream ;  and,  besides,  you  can't 
often  get  milk  when  in  camp. 

"  Now,  Joe,  be  careful  that  you  keep  that  can 
covered ;  for  though  we  might  not  object,  at  times, 
to  our  lemonade  with  a  stick  in  it,  we  don't  want 
black  flies  wading  round  in  our  milk." 

"  All  right :  I'll  keep  him  covered  up.  Go  down 
stream  this  morning?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  wash  the  dishes  first,  and  the  madam 
will  wipe  them,  while  I  smoke  my  pipe  and  joint 
my  rod." 

"  Bring  plenty  wood-duck-wing  fly,  —  yellow 
body?" 

"  Child  of  the  setting  sun  !  degenerate  aborigine  ! 
attend  to  your  culinary  duties,  and  waste  not  our 
precious  time  with  idle  curiosity." 


152        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

I  turn  to  my  work.  Does  the  browned  son  of 
the  forest  do  likewise? 

No  :  he  has  discovered  my  fly-book  by  my  side  ; 
a  satisfied  grunt  attracts  my  attention ;  I  look  behind 
me,  and  see  the  work  of  Sarah  McBride's  delicate 
fingers  passing  under  the  examination  of  his  critical 
eye. 

"  Those  good  flies,  Mr.  Stevens,  —  McBride  ?  " 

"Yes,  Sarah's." 

"Sarah  she  make  good  fly;  that  fly  made  like 
one  I  sent  you ;  salmon  take  that  fly,  sure." 

"Undoubtedly,  Tomah,  she  made  these  from 
your  sample ;  but  will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
take  that  dish-cloth  and  proceed  to  business?" 

"  I  suppose,  Mr.  Stevens,  a  wood-duck-wing,  and 
yellow  body,  will  kill  more  "  — 

"  I  suppose,  if  you  don't  get  at  those  dishes,  you 
lazy  Injun,  I'll  kill  you,  and  serve  you  out  to  the 
fishes.  You'd  make  splendid  food  for  suckers." 

At  last,  by  threats  and  entreaties,  our  household 
duties  are  performed,  and  Joe  shoulders  his  paddle, 
reaches  for  the  landing-net,  and  is  happy. 

The  middle  gate  of  the  dam  is  up,  and  the  water 
is  rushing  on  its  down-hill  course,  feathery  white. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  take  us  through  the  gate, 
Joe,  or  shall  we  take  the  birch  below?  " 

"Run  that?  That's  nothing,  —  white  man  run 
that  easy,  if  he  knew  how." 


RUNNING    THE  RAPIDS.  153 

"Yes,  if  he  knew  how;  run  himself  and  birch 
upon  the  other  shore  of  the  Styx  if  he  didn't." 

"Sticks  !     No  sticks  in  the  channel." 

"  Oh,  unclassical,  untutored  Indian  !  let  us  see 
you  '  go  it  alone,'  and,  if  all  is  well,  come  back  for 
us." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  my  mouth,  when 
Joe,  standing  in  his  canoe,  straight  as  an  arrow,  is 
cutting  the  water  of  the  lake ;  a  moment  more, 
and  the  birch  is  in  the  boiling  vortex  below  the 
dam,  having  passed  over  the  swiftly-running  cur- 
rent, and,  in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  me  to 
write  these  few  lines,  Joe  has  pulled  to  the  shore, 
and  is  awaiting  our  commands. 

From  the  pool  below  the  dam,  for  a  distance  of 
half  a  mile,  the  stream  is  one  continuous  rapid,  its 
dark  and  seething  waters  boiling  and  foaming  as 
they  rush  forward  on  their  down-hill  course. 

Here  and  there,  in  its  wild  track,  the  waters  leap 
up  to  embrace  a  rocky  boulder,  and  scatter  their 
flecks  of  foam  high  in  air.  A  wild,  turbulent,  and 
tortuous  pathway  to  the  comparatively  smoother 
water  below. 

A  few  of  the  older  guides  often  descend  these 
rapids  alone,  in  their  birches ;  but  rarely  do  they 
take  any  one  with  them,  as  a  slight  error  in  judg- 
ment, a  change  of  current,  or  the  breaking  of  a 


154        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

paddle,  would  shatter  their  frail  craft,  and  place  the 
occupants  in  a  decidedly  unpleasant,  if  not  danger- 
ous position. 

This  morning  we  were  lions  in  nerve  :  our  breakfast 
had  tamed  our  appetites,  but  not  our  spirits,  and  we 
were  ready  for  adventure,  —  thirsting  for  it. 

"  Darest  thou  leap  into  yonder  birch,  and  tempt 
the  roaring  flood?"  Thus,  or  in  words  of  similar 
import,  I  addressed  madam.  And  she,  with  spar- 
kling eye,  though  looking  somewhat  askant  at  the 
miniature  Niagara,  replied,  — 

"Where  thou  goest,  I  will  go." 

Beckoning  to  Joe,  I  gave  him  a  sign,  —  by  trans- 
forming myself  for  a  moment  into  an  Italian  image- 
peddler,  —  which  he,  understanding  the  imagery, 
answered  by  making  a  head-dress  of  his  canoe, 
and  marching  towards  us. 

"Joe,"  said  I,  as  he  gently  deposited  his  grace- 
ful burden  at  our  feet,  "do  you  dare  to  run  us 
through  in  the  birch?  " 

A  thoughtful  look  overshadowed  his  face,  and 
his  hand  went  to  his  chin ;  he  turned  toward  the 
stream,  casting  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
rapids,  whose  roar  he  could  hear,  but  whose  rush- 
ing current  he  could  not  see ;  then,  turning  to  us, 
he  replied,  — 

"Yes;  I  think  it's  safe, —  but  you  mustn't  be 
afraid  of  a  wetting." 


RUNNING   THE  RAPIDS.  155 

"  Not  a  bit.  But  did  you  ever  know  a  lady  to 
go  over  this  rapid  ?  " 

"No;  but  there's  no  danger  if  you  only  sit 
qv.iet." 

"  Very  well :  there's  got  to  be  a  first  one,  and 
we'll  try  it.  Are  you  agreed,  madam  ?" 

"Yes,  if  you  say  so." 

Seating  ourselves  in  the  canoe,  Joe  spreads  the 
rubber  clothing  over  us,  and  we  are  ready.  It  is 
an  anxious  moment ;  and  I  begin  to  wish  that  a 
little  of  our  adventurous  spirit  had  been  quenched 
with  our  breakfast,  —  but  we  had  gone  too  far  to 
retreat.  I  knew  Joe's  heart  was  in  his  work ;  and, 
proud  of  his  skill  and  our  pluck,  it  would  have  been 
a  feather  from  his  plume  and  ours  had  we  "  paused 
upon  the  brink." 

And,  besides,  a  few  observant  fishermen  noticing 
our  movements  caught  the  inspiration  of  the  mo- 
ment, and,  divining  our  intentions,  took  positions 
where  they  could  be  observers  of  our  exciting 
trip. 

I  doubt  if  any  adventurer  that  left  his  native 
shore  in  search  of  the  country  whose  possessors 
were  Tomah's  ancestors  e'er  felt  a  greater  pride 
when  his  foot  first  touched  its  soil  than  did  Joe 
when,  all  being  in  readiness,  he  surveyed  his  pre- 
cious freight,  and  "pushed  his  shallop  from  the 
shore." 


156        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

No  retreat,  now  :  a  few  sharp  strokes  of  the  pad- 
dle, and  a  graceful  turn  brings  us  face  to  face  with 
the  boiling,  rushing  flood,  —  a  pent-up  lake,  which, 
caught  and  confined  by  the  hand  of  man,  is  seek- 
ing its  outlet  between  two  wooden  walls  not  twenty 
feet  apart. 

On  we  are  driven ;  and  now  Joe  guides  our  boat 
of  bark  into  the  narrow  opening.  For  an  instant 
the  water  beneath  us  is  like  burnished  glass,  and 
but  for  an  instant,  for  now  we  take  a  flying  leap 
into  the  caldron  of  yeasty  foam.  Our  frail  craft 
shivers  for  a  moment,  as  if  stunned  by  the  shock, 
then  rises  buoyantly,  uplifted  by  the  swelling,  rush- 
ing, maddened  waters,  shoots  out  of  the  foam  and 
mist,  and  floats  once  more,  with  airy  lightness,  on 
the  pool  below. 

u  Well  done,  Joseph  !  "  went  up  from  the  shore  ; 
and,  as  soon  as  we  are  able  to  breathe  freely,  we 
mingle  our  plaudits  with  those  about  us. 

"  That's  the  easy  part.  Mr.  Stevens  :  the  work  has 
got  to  come.  Shall  we  go  ahead?  " 

"  By  all  means  !  "  said  I ;  for  we  were  now  in 
for  it,  and  nothing  could  stop  us. 

"  Then,  don't  either  of  you  move  an  inch  unless 
the  birch  goes  out  from  under  you;  don't  look 
ashore,  look  straight  ahead,  and  don't  speak  to  me 
till  we  get  into  smooth  water." 


RUNNING    THE  RAPIDS.  157 

"  All  right !  that's  business,  fire  away  !  "  And  I 
knew  he  meant  business  ;  for  he  had  taken  off  his 
hat  and  coat,  and  stood  bareheaded  and  erect,  with 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  unwonted  fire. 

Well,  we  started ;  a  few  strokes  of  the  paddle 
brought  us  to  the  edge  of  the  first  fall,  and  again 
we  plunge  into  the  roaring  waters ;  away  we  flew, 
Joe  steering  for  the  wildest  water,  knowing  it  to  be 
the  safest :  now  we  pass  close  by  a  heavy  boulder 
just  rising  to  the  top  of  the  stream ;  and  now  we 
take  a  bucket  of  water  over  the  bow,  and  feel  it 
trickling  down  our  cheeks,  but  we  move  not ; 
another  bucketful.  "  Look  out,  old  boy  !  don't 
swamp  us  "  (this  in  thought,  for  not  a  word  was 
spoken) . 

On,  on  we  dash;  thump,  thump,  resistless  as 
death,  the  waves  strike  the  bottom  of  the  birch ; 
now  the  wild  water  seems  to  be  rolling  towards  us, 
and  now  dashing  on  ahead  with  the  speed  of  a 
race-horse ;  the  air  about  us  is  flecked  with  foam, 
and  we  seem  vying  to  outrun  the  flying  waters 
themselves.  We  pass  beneath  the  bridge,  and  the 
lookers-on  cheer  us  as  we  dart  into  sight  again  :  we 
are  in  rough  water,  we  are  in  rougher  water,  we  are 
in  white  water,  and  we  are  in  foam.  And  now  we 
round  a  bend  in  the  stream,  and  in  an  instant  strike 
out  upon  the  smoother  water  below. 


158        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"Well,  Mr.  Stevens,  we're  here." 

I  turned  about  slightly  in  my  seat :  Mrs.  S —, 

who  had  hardly  dared  to  wink,  was  now  shaking 
the  "  dew-drops  from  her  mane,"  and  Joe  actively 
engaged  in  mopping  his  brow  with  his  shirt-sleeve. 

"  Yes,  we  are  here,  Joe  ;  and  my  impression  is, 
we  haven't  been  a  very  long  time  getting  here. 
Don't  you  think  it  was  a  little  hubbly  in  some 
places  ?  " 

"  Well,  a  trifle  so ;  but  your  wife  has  got  some- 
thing to  talk  about  when  she  gets  home." 

"  Yes,  Joe ;  but  you  will  have  to  come  to  Boston 
and  tell  the  story :  I  fear  our  friends  would  hardly 
believe  us  when  we  tell  of  it." 

"  Never  mind :  we  know  all  about  it,  and  they 
can't  take  away  the  grandness  of  that  trip  by  doubt- 
ing us." 

"That's  so." 

"  And  now,  Joe,  for  a  salmon." 

Drawing  in  to  the  shore,  to  give  Tomah  a  little 
rest,  I  let  my  line  float  out  upon  the  stream  to 
straighten  the  leader  and  be  prepared  for  action. 
I  pass  my  rod  to  the  madam,  while  I  fill  my  pipe, 
and  take  a  survey  of  the  stream.  The  outlook  is  a 
good  one  :  the  water  is  at  a  proper  height,  but  one 
canoe  is  in  sight,  a  gentle  breeze  is  blowing,  and 
the  sky  is  slightly  overcast. 


RUNNING    THE  RAPIDS.  159 

Suddenly  the  madam  starts,  quickly  passes  me 
the  rod,  with  the  remark  that  "  something's  on  the 
line." 

Sure  enough  ;  the  whiz  of  the  reel,  that  ever- 
musical  sound,  tells  the  story  :  he  has  hooked  him- 
self, firmly  let  us  hope,  but  most  likely  otherwise. 

I  am  ready  for  him,  and  it  is  a  fair  fight  now. 
Oh  !  there's  a  leap  for  you,  fully  four  feet  clear  from 
the  water,  another  and  another ;  the  reel  whizzes, 
and  the  line  lengthens.  And  now,  my  boy,  walk 
this  way,  please :  no  ?  well,  have  your  own  way, 
then,  for  a  while. 

And  he  had  it  till  at  last  tired,  quite  tired  out 
with  his  rushing  and  leaping,  he  submits  to  his  fate, 
allows  himself  to  be  reeled  to  the  canoe's  side,  the 
net  is  deftly  slipped  beneath  him,  and  he  is  safely 
landed. 

Not  so  ;  for  when,  taking  him  from  the  net,  I  told 
Joe  to  hold  him  up  for  the  madam's  inspection, 
which  he  <  did,  when  the  reviving  fish  made  one 
more  successful  leap  over  the  side  of  the  birch  into 
his  native  element. 

He  was  a  handsome  fish,  fully  two  pounds  in 
weight,  and  Joe  felt  a  bit  ashamed  at  his  loss  ;  but 
we  didn't  care,  for  we  were  assured  of  plenty  of 
sport,  and  we  had  it. 

After  a  few  moments'  casting;  I. struck  a  pair,  and 


160        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

at  the  end  of  a  hard-fought  battle  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  saving  them  both,  two  beautiful  fish  fresh 
run  from  the  lake. 

And  now  let  me  pause  here,  and  tell  you  why  I 
prefer  this  fishing  to  that  of  the  salmon-trout;  and 
while  I  would  not  detract  from  the  latter  sport,  and 
can  appreciate  the  shake  of  the  head  from  those 
who  have  enjoyed  year  after  year  only  trout-fishing, 
I  am  free  to  say,  having  had  many  years'  experience 
in  both,  the  land-locked  salmon  is  my  preference 
now  and  forever. 

Catching  a  little  inspiration  from  the  immortal 
bard,  and  parodying  one  of  his  lines,  I  state  it 

thus  :  — 

The  leap,  the  leap's  the  thing 
Wherein  I  call  the  land-locked  salmon,  king. 

I  once  took  a  fish  above  the  dam  in  smooth 
water,  weighing  about  two  pounds,  that  made  nine 
successive  leaps  varying  from  three  to  six  feet  clear 
from  the  water,  and  all  within  five  minutes'  time. 

This  was  witnessed  by  my  wife,  who  was  in  the 
canoe  with  me,  and  who  counted  the  leaps,  and  by 
others  who  were  fishing  near  us. 

No  salmon-trout  ever  did  that,  nor  ever  will.  It 
is  seldom  that  the  trout  goes  out  of  water  after 
coming  out  to  take  the  fly  (Mr.  Murray  to  the  con- 
trary notwithstanding)  :  his  tendency  is  toward  the 


RUNNING    THE  RAPIDS.  l6l 

bottom,  and  he  rarely  goes  out  of  the  water  till 
netted,  while  the  salmon  rushes  with  such  velocity, 
nose  upward,  that  he  is  in  the  air  before  he  knows 
It. 

In  taking  the  fly,  I  award  the  palm  to  the  trout, 
as  he  usually  throws  himself  out  of  water  to  do  so. 
The  salmon  does  not,  he  scarcely  more  than  shows 
himself;  but  after  being  hooked  the  sport  com- 
mences, and  it  is  all  activity  to  the  death,  rarely  any 
sulking. 

As  regards  beauty,  while  the  palm  must  be 
awarded  to  the  trout,  yet  the  salmon  is  a  very 
handsome  fish.  I  think  his  form  is  better  moulded 
than  that  of  the  trout,  and  he  has  a  much  finer 
head,  which  is  beautifully  spotted.  The  young  fish 
has  bright  red  spots  upon  the  body,  which  dis- 
appear as  he  matures ;  the  only  spots  then  being 
small  crosses  of  black,  which  form  a  pleasing  con- 
trast with  the  silvery  lustre  of  the  skin.  When 
first  taken  from  the  water,  they  are  a  most  beau- 
tiful specimen  of  the  finny  tribe. 

And  now,  having  painted  this  lord  of  the  stream 
from  my  mind's  palette,  perhaps  you  may  ask, 
"  How  does  he  affect  another  palate?  " 

And  I  answer  you :  Decidedly  he  is  equal,  if 
not  superior,  to  my  taste,  to  the  trout ;  such  is  my 
decision  after  a  fair  test,  and  it  is  also  that  of  man) 


1 62        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

of  my  friends  who  were  quite  surprised  that  they 
should  arrive  at  such  conclusions. 

Last  year  while  "on  the  stream,"  a  friend  of 
many  years,  an  ardent  fisherman,  who  had  for 
nearly  twenty  seasons  made  the  Rangeley  Lakes  his 
camping-ground,  dropped  down  upon  us  quite 
unexpectedly.  He  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  land- 
locked salmon  and  their  gamesome  qualities.  Be- 
fore he  had  been  three  days  among  us,  he  was  the 
most  enthusiastic  individual  I  ever  saw ;  early  and 
late  he  was  "up  and  at  'em." 

Poor  Gabrielle,  his  guide,  had  no  rest  for  the  sole 
of  his  foot,  or  the  muscles  of  his  arm ;  and  it  was 
not  much  wonder  that  the  cry  of,  "  Good -by, 
Umbagog,"  became  a  byword  in  camp. 

And  so  with  my  good  friend,  and  fellow-fisher- 
man, Walter  B.  McAtee  of  Baltimore,  whose  ac- 
quaintance I  made  at  the  stream,  and  who  I  know 
will  pardon  me  for  putting  him  in  print. 

It  was  one  of  those  happy  accidents,  as  they  are 
called,  which  led  him  into  the  regions  of  the 
salmon,  and  away  from  his  accustomed  haunts,  the 
Adirondacks. 

And  now,  should  you  ask  him  which  fishing  he 
prefers,  he  would  say,  — 

"  I  tell  you  it's  no  use  talking :  it  just  lays  over 
any  fishing  I  know  of,  and  I  don't  want  any  better." 


RUNNING    THE  RAPIDS.  163 

Next  June  we  hope  to  renew  some  of  the  pleas- 
ant scenes  through  which  we  have  passed,  one  or 
two  of  which  I  may  allude  to  in  these  pages. 

It  just  occurs  to  me,  that  I  have  digressed  to  an 
alarming  extent,  and  left  the  madam  to  entertain 
Joseph,  while  I  have  been  cramming  you,  my  gen- 
tle reader,  with  my  individual  opinion  and  that  of 
a  few  friends,  on  a  subject  whereon  even  doctors 
disagree,  and  you  yourself  may  believe,  excuse  me, 
in  your  ignorance,  t(f)out  au  contraire. 

So,  if  you  please,  we  will  attend  to  our  fishing. 

"  How  many  have  we  now,  Joseph?  " 

"  Nine,  and  all  good  fish." 

"Did  you  count  the  one  you  dropped  over- 
board?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  that  makes  ten,  and  that's  enough  for  our 
forenoon  sport.  I  reckon  we  will  reel  up,  and  go 
home." 

Being  obliged  to  kill  the  fish  that  are  taken  upon 
the  stream,  we  never  take  more  than  can  be  used 
to  advantage. 

A  true  sportsman  intends  that  every  fish  caught 
shall  be  eaten  by  some  one.  And  many  of  our 
friends  hundreds  of  miles  away  have  tasted  the 
fruits  of  our  enjoyment. 

I  once  kept  two  fish,  weighing  four  pounds  each, 


1 64        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

two  days  upon  the  ice  \  took  them  to  Boston,  and, 
when  served,  they  were  pronounced  equal  to  the 
true  salmon. 

A  walk  of  about  half  an  hour,  the  same  distance 
by  water  on  our  downward  trip,  occupying,  say, 
five  minutes,  brought  us  to  our  tents  on  the  hill, 
and  we  make  preparations  for  dinner. 

It  is  very  amusing  to  see  Joe  get  ready :  first,  he 
goes  down  the  hill  for  an  armful  of  wood ;  when  he 
gets  that,  he  finds  that  he  needed  a  little  bark  for 
kindling ;  back  he  goes  after  that ;  then  he  discov- 
ers that  a  bucket  of  water  is  wanting,  and  down  he 
goes  after  that ;  making  three  trips  when  one  would 
have  answered  as  well. 

Finally,  after  all  the  little  drawbacks  attendant  to 
cooking  an  out-of-door  dinner  are  overcome,  we 
are  enabled  to  say,  "Thank  heaven,  the  table  is 
set ! "  and  with  keen  appetites,  such  as  are  only 
attainable  in  the  woods,  we  sit  down  to  partake ; 
and  rise  only  when  both  fish  and  flesh,  like  the 
grasshopper,  "becometh  a  burden." 

Cast  not  your  line  when  the  sun  casts  no 
shadow. 

A  maxim  which  it  were  wise  for  a  fisherman  to 
follow.  May  I  say,  no  less  to  be  remembered 
because  not  in  quotation-marks? 

In   the  "  foolishness  of  (so  much)  preaching," 


RUNNING   THE  RAPIDS.  165 

there  should  certainly  be  a  few  words  of  wisdom  ; 
therefore  do  not,  my  ardent  angler,  fancy  for  a  mo- 
ment that  all  your  daylight  hours  should  be  spent  in 
eating  and  fishing,  but  accept  the  preacher's  advice  : 
when  the  sun  is  at  its  meridian,  and  for  one  hour 
before  and  at  least  two  after,  wet  not  your  line. 

After  dinner,  take  your  pipe,  select  some  shady 
spot,  and  as  you  sit  having  nothing 

"To  fret  your  soul  with  crosses  or  with  cares,"  — 

indulge  in  a  retrospect  of  your  anti-meridian  suc- 
cesses. Question  your  guide  as  to  whether  any 
one  could  have  saved  the  fish  you  lost,  the  "  noblest 
Roman"  of  them  all  (?).  Anticipate  your  after- 
noon sport,  select  a  few  flies  in  which  you  have 
confidence,  knock  the  ashes  from  your  dudheen, 
then  seek  your  tent,  lie  down  upon  your  bed  of 
boughs,  draw  your  mosquito-net  around  you,  and 
woo  the  drowsy  god. 

Such  is  my  custom,  arrd  it  is  best  honored  in  its 
observance ;  so  if  you  pleasey  my  friend,  imagine 
me  lying  quietly  upon  my  couch  of  green,  while  you 
turn  over. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   STIFF    BREEZE. 

AYS  in  camp  are  all  alike,  in  this 
respect  at  least,  that  all  are  enjoy- 
able ;  and  though  that  gives  the 
most  zest  which  recounts  at  night 
a  famous  catch,  or  some  desperate 
fight  for  victory  under  adverse  cir- 
cumstances, yet  all  are  happy;  and,  as  twilight 
gathers,  we  sit  where  the  eye  can  rest  upon  lake 
and  mountain,  rehearse  our  triumphs,  or  perchance 
our  failures,  and  form  plans  for  the  morrow. 

One  afternoon  Joe  and  I  decided  to  leave  our 
birch  at  Little  Falls,  about  a  mile  or  so  down 
stream,  and  go  down  on  foot  the  next  morning,  to 
get  the  first  fishing  at  that  favorite  spot. 

Following  out  our  plan,  we  were  on  hand  in  good 
season ;  but  no  canoe  was  to  be  found.     Its  ab- 
166 


A   STIFF  BREEZE.  167 

sence  caused  Joe  to  stroke  his  chin,  and  remain  foi 
a  moment  lost  in  thought. 

"What  does  it  mean,  Tomah?" 

"  Ugh  !  look  there,"  pointing  to  the  spot  where 
we  left  the  canoe. 

"  Well,  I  see  nothing  there  but  a  pile  of  chips." 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  Somebody  make  paddle  ;  and 
see  here,  moccasin-track:  that's  Gabrielle  (Joe's 
brother)  ;  only  he  round  here  now  wear  mocca- 
sin." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think?  " 

"  Gabrielle,  his  birch  up  'bove  dam ;  I  think  he 
and  Mr.  Clark,  they  take  walk  down  stream ;  fish 
Big  Falls,  then  walk  down  here  to  fish  from  bank ; 
see  our  canoe,  make  paddle,  catch  our  fish." 

And,  sure  enough,  the  to-be  legislator  was  right ; 
for  just  at  that  moment  the  birch  appeared  round 
a  bend  in  the  stream,  glided  up  to  the  shore,  and 
the  "  two  thieves,"  our  friend  from  Umbagog  and 
Gabrielle,  stepped  out  upon  the  bank  with  half  a 
dozen  salmon  which  I  had  arranged  for. 

Candor  compels  me  to  say  that  we  hardly  en- 
joyed the  joke  as  much  as  they  :  our  feelings  were 

more  of 

"  That  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 
In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel" 

After  some  little  pleasant  sparring  between  Mr. 


1 68        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Clark  and  myself,  and  one  or  two  good  spanks 
upon  Gabrielle's  back  inflicted  by  Joe  with  the  im- 
provised paddle,  the  latter  shouldered  his  birch,  and 
we  carried  around  the  falls  to  unvisited  fishing- 
grounds  below  We  had,  however,  not  much  luck, 
and,  after  whipping  the  stream  nearly  down  to  the 
outlet,  getting  a  little  faint  we  drew  in  to  the  shore 
to  partake  of  our  lunch.  While  we  were  enjoying 
our  crackers,  cheese,  and  olives,  and  discussing 
what  should  be  our  next  move,  Joe  reached  out 
from  the  canoe,  and  took  from  some  debris  that 
was  floating  upon  the  stream  what  appeared  to  me 
to  be  a  large  but  deserted  cocoon.  Replying  in 
the  negative  to  his  question,  Did  I  know  what  it 
was  ?  he  passed  it  over  to  me  for  inspection,  when 
I  saw  that  possibly  there  might  still  be  an  embryo 
life  within  it. 

"  That,"  said  Joe,  "  is  a  dragon-fly,  what  we  call  a 
'Devil's  darning-needle,'"  all  the  while  examining 
it  critically  :  "I  will  put  it  here  on  the  basket- cover, 
and  in  twenty  minutes  by  your  watch  you  will  see 
him  crawl  out  and  fly  away." 

I  felt  a  little  inclined  to  say  "  Shoo  fly  ! "  but 
knowing  well  Joe's  experience  in  woodcraft  and 
natural  history,  gained  from  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  nature,  I  refrained  from  doubting ;  and  it 
was  well  I  did,  for  in  just  eighteen  minutes  (Joe 


A   STIFF  BKEEZE.  169 

insisted  upon  my  consulting  my  watch) ,  within  two 
of  the  appointed  time,  one  of  those  huge  insects 
emerged  from  the  shell,  and  stood  before  us  in  all 
the  beauty  of  his  variegated  colors. 

He  looked  about  him  for  a  moment,  gave  his  nose 
a  rub  first  with  one  foot,  then  with  another,  stroked 
his  wings  with  a  couple  more  as  if  to  satisfy  himself 
that  he  was  himself,  and,  before  I  was  well  over  my 
amazement,  spread  his  wings,  and  sailed  off  into  the 
air  as  if  he  had  been  up  to  that  sort  of  thing  for  a 
very  much  longer  life  than  he  could  claim. 

No  babyhood  there,  except  what  was  passed  in  his 
darkened  cell,  no  creeping  before  he  could  walk, 
no  fluttering  of  the  wings,  but  with  the  strength  of 
full  growth  to  which  he  seemed  at  once  to  have 
arrived  he  was  ready  to  take  his  part  in  the  battle 
of  life. 

"  Joseph,  you  have  proved  yourself  a  true  proph- 
et for  once,  now  see  if  you  can  find  some  salmon." 

But  Joe's  eyes  are  now  scanning  the  heavens, 
over  which  a  few  white  clouds  were  rapidly  passing, 
and  he  looks  a  little  anxious. 

"  We're  going  to  have  a  thunder-shower,  and  a 
heavy  blow,  Mr.  Stevens;  and  I'm  afraid  Mrs. 

S will  have  a  hard  time  with  those  tents  on  the 

hill." 

"  Nonsense,  Joe  :  I  don't  see  any  signs  of  a 
storm." 


1 70.       FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"  Well,  I  do ;  and  my  advice  is,  go  home.  1  tell 
you,  I'm  anxious  about  your  wife." 

"  But  we  must  not  go  home  without  a  few  more 
fish,  Tomah." 

"  Very  well,  just  as  you  say ;  but  you'll  wish  you 
had  taken  my  advice." 

In  half  an  hour  the  storm  burst  upon  us,  with  all 
its  fury.  The  tall  trees  upon  either  bank  bent 
before  the  blast ;  the  red  lightning  leaped  along  the 
sky,  and  peal  upon  peal  of  thunder  rent  the  dark- 
ened air.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  our  rubber 
clothing  afforded  us  but  poor  protection.  Pushing 
our  birch  to  the  shore,  we  lay  under  the  branches 
of  an  overhanging  tree,  which  protected  us  some- 
what from  the  raging  elements ;  Joe  all  the  while 
insisting  that  there  would  be  trouble  in  camp.  I 
confess,  I  somewhat  shared  his  fears,  but  would  not 
admit  it  to  him.  At  last,  during  a  lull  in  the  storm, 
Joe  says,  — 

"  Mr.  Stevens,  we  are  going  home." 

We  were  then  about  two  miles  from  camp,  and 
most  of  the  way  we  were  obliged  to  go  on  foot. 
We  started  at  once,  Joe  with  the  birch  on  his  head, 
and  I  following  on  behind,  pretty  well  loaded  down 
with  my  fishing-implements.  Before  we  had  gone 
half  a  mile,  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  sun  was 
bursting  through  the  clouds;  still  the  wind  blew 


A   STIFF  BXEEZE.  171 

heavily,  and  Joe  said  another  shower  was  coming. 
In  this,  however,  he  was  mistaken. 

After  half  an  hour's  tedious  walking,  I  got  a  view 
of  the  hill ;  but  alas  !  the  white  tents  that  were  wont 
to  greet  our  coming  were  not  to  be  seen,  not  a 
yard  of  canvas  was  visible. 

Joe's  head  was  enveloped  in  birch-bark,  and  I 
felt  a  bit  ashamed  to  tell  him  the  state  of  affairs ; 
but,  feeling  the  need  of  haste,  I  suggested  that  he 
take  a  look. 

"  Just  as  I  expected :  now  I  leave  canoe  here, 
and  we  get  there  pretty  quick." 

We  were  soon  standing  amid  the  wreck  :  every 
thing  was  flat,  gone  by  the  board. 

Like  the  blossoming  fruit,  when  summer  is  green, 
Our  tents  on  the  hill-tops  at  sunrise  were  seen  ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest,  when  autumn  had  blown, 
That  camp  in  the  noontime  dismantled  was  strown. 

And  there  lay  the  stove,  with  its  door  opened  wide, 
But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  its  pride. 
And  the  smoke  of  its  embers  fell  faint  on  the  hill, 
And  the  pipe  but  once  puffed,  and  forever  was  still. 

And  there  stood  the  hostess,  not  caring  a  groat, 

With  a  pie  in  her  hand,  and  the  rain  on  her  coat, 

As  she  said,  with  glad  gesture,  "  The  storm  have  I  braved, 

The  bedding's  all  dry,  and  the  larder  is  saved." 


172        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

The  parody  has  very  well  described  the  situation. 
Though  the  appearance  of  the  camp  was  rather  a 
disheartening  one,  there  was  scarcely  any  damage 

done.  Mrs.  S had  shown  herself  fully  equal  to 

the  emergency;  alone  and  unaided  had  brought 
order  out  of  chaos,  had  sheltered  every  thing  perish- 
able from  the  rain,  and  we  found  her  as  calm  and 
collected  as  though  nought  but  sunshine  had  crossed 
her  path  during  our  absence. 

The  disaster  entailed  but  one  loss :  our  ther- 
mometer was  fastened  to  one  of  the  tent-poles,  and 
both  went  down  together ;  the  latter  to  rise  again 
like  a  famous  insurance  emblem,  the  former  to  do 
so  no  more,  though  Arabia's  sun  should  shine  upon 
it. 

Joe,  having  determined  in  his  mind  that  the 
tents  would  go  down,  was  now  as  fully  determined 
that  they  should  as  quickly  go  up.  It  was  not  long, 
therefore,  before  we  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
our  camp  restored,  par  excellence,  hitherto  un- 
equalled. 

We  had  brought  with  us  some  Chinese  lanterns 
and  fire-balloons,  with  which  to  astonish  the  natives ; 
and  we  decided  to  celebrate  our  rebuilded  city  by 
a  grand  ascension  in  the  evening. 

It  was  highly  successful,  doubly  so  in  itself  and 
its  effect  upon  Joseph.  It  is  rarely  that  the  stoical 


A  STIFF  BREEZE.  173 

nature  of  an  Indian  can  be  aroused  sufficiently  to 
manifest  any  outward  show  of  surprise  or  admira- 
tion. 

Joe  had  feasted  his  eyes  upon  the  gayly  colored 
lanterns  that  hung  upon  ropes  encircling  our  camp, 
had  watched  my  preparations  for  the  aerial  flight 
with  mute  wonder  and  astonishment ;  but  when  the 
ball  of  cotton,  which  he  had  seen  saturated  with 
alcohol,  was  set  on  fire,  and  the  upheld  balloon, 
swelling  out  to  its  full  capacity,  was  let  loose  to 
seek  its  pathway  among  the  stars,  for  once  Joe  for- 
got his  stoicism,  and  became  almost  frantic  with 
delight,  dancing  about,  and  cutting  the  wildest 
capers,  fairly  rivalling  the  clown  in  a  pantomime. 

We  found  it  necessary  to  send  up  three  more 
before  bringing  Joe  clown  to  his  normal  state  ;  and 
by  the  time  they  had  followed  each  other,  in  the 
trackless  space,  we  were  quite  ready  to  seek  repose, 
and  dream,  perchance,  of  those  unknown  worlds, 
that  were  showering  down  upon  us  their  sparkling 
glories. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PARMACHENEE    LAKE. 

HE  Magalloway  River  is  one  of  the 
tributaries    of    the    Androscoggin, 
with   which  it  unites  a  few  miles 
below  its  outlet  from  Umbagog 
Lake. 

Although  a  considerable  river  of  something  like 
one  hundred  miles  in  length,  and  to  be  found  on 
all  modern  maps  of  Maine,  it  is  evidently  not  a 
school  river,  as  I  ascertained  one  day  when  I  asked 
four  Boston  schoolgirls  what  they  knew  about  it. 

It  rises  in  Canada,  and  flows  through  mountain 
gorges,  and  beautiful  meadows,  now  rushing  with 
mighty  swiftness  through  rocky  passes,  and  as 
silently  flowing  among  the  dark  shadows  of  mighty 
forests. 

It  is  a  very  crooked  river.     One  of  our  guides 
174 


PARMACHENEE  LAKE.  175 

told  us  that  it  was  the  last  one  made,  and  it  had  to 
be  coiled  in  wherever  they  could  find  a  chance  to 
put  it.  I  should  think  so.  A  corkscrew  would 
represent  it  very  well. 

Thirty-three  miles  from  its  mouth  as  you  follow 
its  winding  stream,  and  about  eighteen  as  the  crow 
flies,  due  north,  is  Parmachenee  Lake,  a  charming 
sheet  of  water,  encircled  by  hills  of  greater  or  lesser 
height,  some  attaining  to  the  dignity  of  mountains, 
and  all  beautiful. 

I  had  often  heard  of  this  remote  spot,  as  being 
well  worth  a  visit  for  the  beauty  of  its  scenery  as 
well  as  its  attractions  to  the  sportsman ;  for  there  the 
trout,  the  deer,  and  the  lordly  moose  abound,  or 
rather  are  to  be  found  if  one  is  fortunate  enough  to 
find  them. 

I  had  also  learned  that  it  was  difficult  of  access 
on  account  of  wearisome  "  carries  "  across  which 
we  wouid  be  obliged  to  walk. 

But  as  this  would  be  to  our  advantage,  so  far  as 
our  sporting  prospects  were  concerned,  I  deter- 
mined to  make  it  a  visit,  and  in  the  early  summer 
of  1878  made  up  a  small  party  for  a  two- weeks' 
trip  to  that  locality. 

While  we  were  satisfied  that  trout  are  plenty  in 
the  lake  and  surrounding  streams,  our  first  experi- 
ence was  not  a  success,  owing  to  the  lateness  of  the 


f  76        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

season,  very  bad  weather,  and  "high  water."  Still 
the  attractions  of  the  trip  are  so  many  and  varied, 
that  I  think,  notwithstanding  our  bad  luck,  there  is 
not  one  of  the  party  but  hopes  and  fondly  expects 
sooner  or  later  to  revisit  this  charming  lake. 

'  After  much  questioning  of  the  few  acquaintances 
that  had  preceded  us,  we  determined  upon  the  fol- 
lowing route,  which  proved  in  every  respect  a  most 
delightful  journey. 

Leaving  Boston  in  the  Portland  boat,  we  arrive 
at  the  latter  city  in  ample  season  for  a  good  break- 
fast, before  starting  again  by  rail. 

We  take  the  train  on  the  Grand  Trunk  Railroad 
for  North  Stratford,  arriving  there  about  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon. 

Here  we  chartered  a  team,  and  were  driven  thir- 
teen miles  to  Colebrook,  N.H.,  over  a  beautiful 
road  which  follows  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut 
River  nearly  the  whole  distance.  At  Colebrook  we 
spent  the  night  at  the  Parsons  House,  a  well-kept 
hotel  whose  landlord  did  every  thing  to  make  our 
short  stay  a  pleasant  one. 

We  were  here  met  by  a  small  party  of  Vermont 
friends,  who  were  to  accompany  us  on  our  excur- 
sion, and  a  very  agreeable  acquisition  we  found 
them.  At  eight  in  the  morning  our  conveyance 
was  driven  to  the  door ;  and  an  inviting  sight  it  was 


PARMACHENEE  LAKE.  TJJ 

to  look  upon, — the  vehicle  known  as  a  Mountain 
Ranger,  very  comfortable  and  roomy,  with  four  fine- 
looking  horses,  who  appeared  as  much  pleased  at 
their  starting  out  as  ourselves. 

Our  destination  was  Errol  Dam,  on  the  Andros- 
coggin  River,  twenty-one  miles  from  Colebrook, 
through  the  famous  Dixville  Notch. 

The  day  was  not  all  we  could  have  wished ;  but 
our  party  of  seven  was  a  happy  one,  and  the  ladies 
were  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

Our  route  lay  up  the  Mohawk  River,  which,  flow- 
ing from  the  north,  empties  into  the  Connecticut  at 
Colebrook.  Many  were  the  pools  that  we  saw  as 
we  drove  along  by  the  river-side,  and  strongly  were 
we  tempted  to  stop  and  wet  our  lines,  for  we  knew 
that  the  trout  were  there.  We  had  been  informed 
that  it  was  a  stream  well  worth  the  fishiug. 

Soon  we  began  to  ascend  toward  the  Notch,  and 
the  forest  closed  in  about  us.  This,  for  two  miles, 
an  unbroken  wilderness  of  leaves  when  suddenly 
we  came  out  from  the  dark  shadows,  and  found 
ourselves  at  the  Gate  of  the  Notch.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  sublime  pieces  of  scenery  this  side  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Entirely  different  in  its  char- 
acteristics from  the  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains, 
it  has  peculiar  grandeurs  of  its  own,  which  must  be 
seen  tc  be  realfzed,  as  they  cannot  be  described,  — 


1 78        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

certainly  not  by  so  feeble  a  pen  as  mine.  Vast 
pinnacles  of  rock,  some  over  five  hundred  feet  in 
height,  tower  like  cathedral  spires  upon  either  side 
of  us,  as  we  pass  through  the  narrow  defile. 

One  striking  feature  is  the  decaying  and  crum- 
bling appearance  of  the  huge  cliffs, — a  sort  of  worn- 
out  look,  —  the  few  bushes  upon  their  sides  brown 
and  scraggy.  At  one  point  in  the  Notch  we  look 
down  from  our  wagon-seats  into  a  vast  ravine,  where 
the  sunlight  scarcely  penetrates,  and  where  snow 
lies  unmelted  throughout  the  summer.  A  promi- 
nent feature  is  Profile  Rock,  —  the  profile  equalling 
in  outline  and  size  that  of  Franconia  Notch.  Al- 
together, it  is  a  wonderful  piece  of  scenery ;  and  I 
have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  drive  from 
Colebrook  to  Errol  Dam,  through  this  mountain- 
pathway,  is  one  of  the  finest  in  America.  After 
passing  the  Notch,  our  course  lies  beside  the  banks 
of  the  Clear  Stream  River,  eleven  miles  to  Errol 
Dam. 

We  reached  the  Dam  at  noon,  and  found  Bragg's 
Hotel  a  very  inviting  place,  —  so  much  so,  that, 
deciding  to  tarry,  we  spent  the  afternoon  in  fishing 
at  the  Dam,  and  the  night  with  our  agreeable  host, 
who  showed  us  every  kindness. 

The  proper  route  from  this  place  to  Parmachenee 
is  by  steamer  through  the  Androscoggin  and  Magal- 


PARMACHENEE  LAKE.  179 

loway  Rivers,  to  a  point  distant  about  ten  miles,  — 
Brown's  Landing.  But  in  the  absence  of  the 
steamer,  which  is  a  very  notional  craft,  —  coming 
and  going  at  its  own  sweet  will,  —  we  were  obliged 
to  again  take  the  "  Mountain  Ranger,"  and  drive  a 
distance  of  seventeen  miles  over  a  mountainous 
road,  —  partly  in  Maine,  and  partly  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, —  to  the  extreme  end  of  civilization,  where 
carries  and  boating  commence. 

Changing  from  our  "Mountain  Ranger"  to  a 
buck-board,  we  encounter  our  first  carry  of  two 
miles,  —  and  a  dismal,  rough,  and  dreary  ride  it  is. 
We  pass  the  night  at  Fred  Flint's  camp,  near  the 
Aziscohos  Falls,  on  the  Magalloway.  For  good 
cooking,  a  neat  table,  and  a  comfortable  bed,  com- 
mend us  to  this  oasis  in  the  wilderness.  Surely 
Fred  is  blessed  with  a  wife  worth  the  having. 

For  our  thirty-three  miles  of  boating,  we  are 
ready  at  an  early  hour  the  following  morning ;  and 
at  six  o'clock  our  three  boats  push  off  from  the 
landing,  each  propelled  by  a  willing  pair  of  oars. 

From  our  start  at  the  falls,  the  entire  distance 
to  the  lake  lies  through  a  virgin  wilderness,  not  a 
clearing,  not  a  sign  of  a  human  habitation,  save 
a  solitary  hunter's  camp,  where  we  landed  and 
lunched  in  primitive  style.  The  trip,  were  it  not 
for  its  novelty,  would  be  somewhat  tiresome ;  but 


l8o        FLY-FISHING   IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

the  scenery  was  constantly  changing,  and  we  were 
not  there  to  be  tired,  and  the  hours  passed  pleasantly. 
It  took  just  eleven  of  them  to  accomplish  the  dis- 
tance, it  being  up-hill  work  all  the  way.  To  note 
the  difference  between  up  and  down  hill,  in  river- 
boating,  we  were  but  six  hours  in  making  the  return 
passage.  We  reached  the  landing,  five  miles  from 
the  lake,  —  the  river,  on  account  of  rapids,  being 
impassable  the  remainder  of  the  distance,  —  at  five 
o'clock,  and  a  comfortable  walk  of  a  mile  brought 
us  to  Spof.  Flint's  camp,  on  the  shore  of  Sunday 
Pond,  where  we  spent  the  night. 

In  the  morning  we  took  our  departure  through 
the, woods,  on  foot,  for  the  lake,  distant  four  miles. 
We  were  two  hours  in  crossing  this  carry,  —  not 
rapid  locomotion,  but  fast  enough  to  be  agreeable. 
Considering  the  non-macadamized  road  over  which 
we  passed,  the  ladies  stood  the  jaunt  remarkably 
well.  Our  baggage  followed  us  on  a  horse-sled. 

To  say  that  we  lifted  up  our  voices  with  joy  and 
gladness  when  the  waters  of  the  charming  lake 
greeted  our  sight,  would  certainly  be  within  the 
range  of  truth,  —  and  close  range  at  that. 

Very  grateful  was  the  change  from  our  weary 
tramp  to  the  delightful  sail  across  the  lake,  in  a 
commodious  boat  to  Camp  Caribou,  beautifully 
situated  upon  a  small  island  near  the  farther  shore. 


PARMACHENEE  LAKE.  181 

With  John  Danforth,  designer  and  builder,  an 
adept  woodsman,  hunter,  and  guide,  a  bunch  of 
muscle,  and  a  brain  worth  the  ownership,  we  spent 
at  his  hostelry,  Camp  Caribou,  nearly  a  week ;  an 
enjoyable  one,  although  the  elements  were  against 
us,  it  being  a  week  of  almost  continuous  rain,  and 
though  in  the  latter  part  of  June  colder  than 
average  May  weather. 

Our  fishing  was  all  done  from  boats  within  a 
radius  of  four  or  five  miles  from  camp. 

.There  are  large  trout  in  the  lake,  and  one  of 
three  and  a  half  pounds,  a  beautiful  fish,  was  taken 
by  one  of  our  party ;  while  during  our  stay  Mr. 
Burroughs  of  the  Boston  Museum  Company,  who 
with  his  friend  Mr.  Carlos  was  encamped  on  the 
shore  of  the  lake,  took  one  with  the  fly  weighing 
four  and  three-quarter  pounds. 

As  I  before  stated,  our  luck  was  poor.  We  took, 
comparatively,  but  few  fish,  and  not  many  of  even 
a  pound  weight.  At  Little  Boy's  Falls,  where  the 
best  fishing  is  usually  had,  we  did  nothing,  owing  to 
"  high  water."  At  Little  Boy's  Pond,  near  the  falls, 
upon  which  we  put  our  boats,  we  had  fair  fishing  in 
point  of  numbers,  though  the  trout  were  small. 

The  camp  conveniences,  table,  boats,  and  guides 
are  excellent,  and  John  Danforth  is  the  head  and 
front  of  it  all.  Too  much  cannot  be  said  in  his 
praise,,  as  all  who  know  him  will  attest. 


1 82        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Our  journey  home,  varying  our  route  by  return- 
ing via  Fabyan's,  the  White-mountain  Notch,  and 
North  Conway,  with  the  ascent  of  Mount  Kear 
sarge,  was  one  of  great  enjoyment,  and  the  entire 
trip  one  abounding  in  beauty  and  romance. 

Our  party  still  believe  there  is  good  trout-fishing 
at  Parmachenee  Lake,  and,  taken  all  in  all,  feel 
that  we  are  justified  in  recommending  it  to  others. 
The  expense  of  the  excursion  is  more  than  that  to 
Rangeley,  Moosehead,  or  Grand  Lake,  but,  for  those 
who  seek  for  more  seclusion  than  these  afford,  is 
much  to  be  preferred. 

Should  any  of  my  readers  wish  to  take  the  trip, 
I  should  be  pleased  personally  to  give  them  any 
information  in  regard  to  guides,  expense,  etc.,  not 
here  set  down,  as  this  does  not  include  "  the  whole 
business." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

PICKEREL-FISHING   IN   WINTER. 

|  LA  INLY,  it  happened  in  this  way: 
Tom  had  often  driven  by  the  pond 
in  summer ;  and,  occasionally  stop- 
ping  to  gather  a  handful  of  the 
beautiful  lilies  that  float  upon  its 
surface,  he  one  day  met  a  hardy 
tiller  of  the  soil,  with  whom  he  chatted  as  he 
tossed  the  fragrant  flowers  towards  the  sparkling 
eyes  in  the  carriage. 

"  Pickerel,  sir !  you  can  say  pickerel.  Why, 
there's  no  eend  to  'em,  sir,  if  you  takes  'em  a 
cloudy  day  when  the  moon  is  right." 

"  Do  they  ever  fish  for  them  in  the  winter,  my 
friend?" 

"  Well,  not  much.  You  see,  the  boys  round  here, 
they  likes  smelting  better ;  and  the  city  chaps,  as  a 
gineral  thing  they  don't  much  like  fishing  through 

183 


1 84        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

the  ice ;  it's  apt  to  give  'em  the  rheumatics  and 
sich ;  but  once  in  a  while  a  party,  they  does  come 
down.  (Beg  yer  pardon,  ma'am  !  Oh  !  he  won't 
bite  :  he  only  barks.)  And,  when  they  do,  they 
usually  makes  a  haul.  There  was  two  chaps  come 
down  last  winter  when  she  first  froze  up,  and  sot 
twenty  lines,  and  carried  off  nigh  two  hundred  as 
pretty  creeturs  as  ever  you  saw;  but  they  ain't 
many  of  'em  as  likes  the  fun." 

"Well,  sir,  I  rather  enjoy  such  sport  "in  the 
winter,  and  I  may  get  up  a  party,  and  come  down 
and  try  them ;  and,  by  the  way,  if  you  will  keep 
this  rather  quiet  —  you  live  near  here,  I  judge?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  close  yonder,  right  by  the  pond." 

"Well,  take  this,  and  buy  something  for  the 
babies." 

"  I'm  'fraid  you're  too  generous ;  but  mum's  the 
word.  I  sha'n't  know  nothing  about  the  fishing 
arter  this." 

Now,  Thomas  is  not  an  unbelieving  Thomas,  as 
was  he  of  old,  nor  does  he  forget  any  thing  in  a 
hurry ;  and  that  night,  though  one  of  the  warm- 
est of  last  summer's  many  warm  ones,  he  woke 
his  wife  calling  for  more  blankets,  dreaming,  en- 
thusiastic soul,  that  already  he  stood,  with  a  happy 
party,  around  the  dark,  bubbling  holes,  anxiously 
waiting  for  the  tiny  flag  to  give  timely  notice  of  the 
first  bite. 


PICKEREL-FISHING  IN  WINTER.        185 

And  so  it  came  about,  that  a  fortnight  or  so  ago 
he  poured  this  weight  of  sport  which  had  long  bur- 
dened his  mind  into  the  ears  of  a  few  delighted 
listeners,  who  in  early  spring,  with  rod  and  reel, 
are  wont  to  tempt  the  wary  trout  from  lake  and 
stream,  —  rugged  fellows  they,  willing  to  breast  the 
icy  breezes  and  the  drifted  snow  for  a  good  day's 
sport  and  the  prospect  of  a  generous  spoil. 

First,  there  was  Charley  W.,  who  delights  to  see 
his  fellow-men  well  clothed,  and  who,  when  sum- 
mer breezes  blow,  dons  the  seaman's  garb,  and 
from  the  deck  of  his  swift-going  yacht  drinks  in 
the  grandeur  of  old  ocean's  waves,  as  the  beautiful 
craft  settles  down  to  her  work,  and  parts  the  water 
like  a  thing  of  life. 

And  Johnny  L .  Every  one  knows  Johnny ; 

a  perfect  Apollo,  both  in  form  and  voice ;  good  at 
a  story,  better  at  a  song ;  and,  if  report  be  true 
(and  sure  it  must  when,  from  such  a  source  it 
comes),  to  his  already  shining  stars  he  has  lately 
astonished  the  world,  and  a  neighboring  city,  by 
appearing  as  a  "Burlesque  Comet." 

Then  a  "Mammoth*  Cod,"  a  half-amphibious 
fellow,  who  likes  the  water  most  every  way  except 
as  a  steady  beverage,  —  another  Charley,  fond  of 
fun  and  fishing,  he  must  needs  be  stirred  up  at  the 
glowing  tale,  and  consents  most  willingly  to  join 
the  merry  crew. 


1 86        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

In  the  language  of  the  novelist,  "  the  auspicious 
day  at  last  arrived,"  which  was  to  furnish  sport  in 
abundance ;  and  in  the  best  of  spirits,  our  lunch- 
baskets  well  filled,  our  fishing-gear,  supplied  by 
"  Prouty,"  consisting  of — item  :  one  axe,  one  long- 
handled  skimmer,  one  ditto  cold-chisel,  twenty-four 
patent  lines,  with  red-flannel-flag  attachments, — 
all  snugly  stowed  in  the  baggage-car;  our  little 
party  augmented  by  Professor  Gerry,  who  was  to 
have  charge  of  the  whole  (hole)  proceedings, — 
we  rattled  out  of  the  Old  Colony  Depot,  bound  for 
Lily  Pond,  Cohasset. 

One  little  incident  occurred  before  starting  which 
might,  to  a  less-determined  company,  have  proved 
a  drawback.  Tom,  with  proper  foresight,  had  the 
day  before  purchased  a  bucket  of  live  bait,  cunning 
little  minnows,  who  seemed  as  happy  in  their  nest 
of  eel-grass,  tucked  up  nicely  together,  as  though 
swimming  in  their  native  element.  Now,  Mrs. 
J ,  Tom's  better  half,  discovered  this  same  buck- 
et, and  the  absence  of  any  water  in  which  the  lit- 
tle chaps  might  swim ;  and,  in  the  kindness  of  her 
heart,  poured  in  a  supply,  which,  under  some  cir 
cumstances,  would  have  proved  quite  beneficial  to 
their  general  health ;  but  in  this  case  it  only  damp- 
ened their  spirits,  and  our  live  bait  became  dead 
bait.  Poor  Tom  !  he  said  he  couldn't  scold,  it 
showed  such  a  good  disposition. 


PICKEREL-FISHING  IN  WINTER.        187 

But  we  took  along  our  dead  "  enticements,"  and 
left  word  with  a  friend  to  have  another  bucketful, 
with  more  life,  follow  us  in  the  next  train. 

In  due  time  we  arrived  at  Cohasset,  where  we 
were  met  by  a  friend  of  Tom's,  Mr.  Hall  of  Marsh- 
field,  whose  large  experience  in  winter  fishing,  dis- 
played in  determining  the  latitude  and  longitude  of 
the  holes,  the  length  of  the  lines,  and  such  matters, 
added,  undoubtedly,  to  the  success  of  our  day's 
fishing.  A  ride  of  about  two  miles  brought  us  to 
the  pond  :  in  regard  to  which  ride,  too  much  praise 
canrot  be  awarded  to  our  friend  Hall,  whose  win- 
ning ways  so  overcame  the  stable-keeper,  that  he 
reduced  the  price  of  the  job  from  five  dollars  to 
two-fifty,  and  no  extra  charge  for  bringing  up  the 
bucket  of  bait. 

As  we  drove  upon  the  snow-covered  ice,  a  thrill 
of  pleasure  so  filled  each  breast  that  it  welled  up  in 
one  prolonged  shout  of  rejoicing,  so  loud  and  long 
that  it  actually  started  our  horse  into  a  trot,  the 
first  since  leaving  the  depot.  As  we  disembarked 
from  our  rude  vehicle,  known  as  a  pung,  a  gray- 
haired  individual  rushed  across  the  ice,  and  was 
soon  engaged  in  earnest  converse  with  Tom  and 
friend  Hall,  as  to  our  objective  point  for  hole- 
building.  This  proved  to  be  the  old  gent  of  last 
summer,  who  lived  "  yonder,  close  by  the  pond." 


1 88        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE   LAKES. 

And  now,  behold  the  professor  with  his  axe, 
Hall  with  the  skimmer,  Tom  and  Johnny  exploring 
the  little  island  for  the  spot  and  material  for  a  fire, 
the  two  Charleys  arranging  the  lines,  and  selecting 
the  most  lifelike  of  the  dead  minnows  for  bait, 
while  the  kind  old  gent  wandered  calmly  about, 
telling  such  fish-stories  as  would  cause  the  most 
stoical  to  glow  with  anticipation. 

The  holes  are  cut,  the  lines  are  set,  the  little 
flags  all  ready  to  rise  at  the  slightest  indication  of 
a  nibble,  and  —  ah  !  there  goes  a  flag,  the  first 
thing  !  Run,  Johnny  !  go  it,  Tom  !  False  alarm, 
was  it  ?  Must  have  been  the  wind.  A  long  wait ; 
patience  :  they  don't  bite  till  the  noise  is  stilled,  so 
the  old  gent  tells  us. 

A  longer  wait ;  a  kicking  of  shins,  and  rubbing 
of  noses  to  keep  warm ;  nary  bite. 

Oh,  if  that  live  bait  would  only  come  !  It  don't ; 
and  ancient  gent  takes  a  quiet  nipper  of  old  Med., 
and  a  dollar  from  the  general  fund,  and  retires  to 
his  cottage  "  over  yonder." 

Meantime  our  fire  burns  brightly,  and  we  gather 
round  it,  watching  anxiously  our  little  flags;  but 
somehow  they  don't  go  up. 

A  boy,  an  educated  youth,  joins  our  party,  who 
will  persist,  in  spite  of  Tom's  logic,  that  the  salt 
water  does  not  flow  into  the  pond.  Innocent  child, 


PICKEREL-FISHING  IN  WINTER.        189 

unused  to  guile  !  Ah,  there  comes  the  live  bait ! 
Now  we  shall  have  them  !  Quick,  Johnny,  be  live- 
ly !  Too  much  time  lost  already  !  There  !  Thun- 
der !  They  don't  seem  to  notice  the  difference. 
Not  a  flag  rises.  Well,  we  are  all  getting  hungry, 
and  lunch  is  proposed,  to  which  no  one  objects ; 
when,  just  as  the  baskets  are  opened,  and  all  are 
gathered  about  them,  up  goes  a  flag,  and  five  pair 
of  legs  run  quickly  to  the  spot,  and  our  first  prize 
is  landed  on  the  ice.  • 

Isn't  he  a  beauty?  Hall  soon  extemporizes  a 
pond  in  which  we  deposit  our  darling ;  and  we  re- 
sume our  feast,  attended  by  the  "  knowledgeous  " 
boy,  whose  early  education  in  the  matter  of  eating 
had  evidently  not  been  neglected.  An  ice-cutter, 
engaged  on  a  distant  part  of  the  pond,  a  ragged, 
unkempt  genius,  also  favored  us  with  his  company, 
and  chopped  down  a  few  trees  for  our  fire,  in 
regular  backwoodsman  style.  We  were  not  obliged 
to  board  him  however,  as  he  procured  his  dinner 
from  one  of  the  trees  he  cut  down,  which  consisted 
of  a  quantity  of  overgrown  black  ants  (fact) ,  which 
he  seemed  to  relish  hugely.  We  had  heard  of  such 
a  diet  among  the  Digger  Indians,  but  hardly  ex- 
pected to  see  it  in  Norfolk  County.  Being  desirous 
of  knowing  where  this  uncouth  specimen  was  born 
and  reared,  I  interviewed  him  to  that  effect. 


190        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  was  raised  in  Scarborough, 
Me."  He  had  been,  like  the  "Boots"  at  Holly 
Tree  Inn,  "a'most  everywhere,"  —  had  fought  with 
the  boys  in  blue,  and  later  against  the  Indians  on  the 
plains ;  had  raised  wheat  in  Minnesota,  and  felled 
trees  in  Michigan. 

As  I  was  well  acquainted  in  Scarborough,  a  little 
town  near  Portland,  Me.,  numbering  some  thousand 
souls,  three-quarters  of  whom  bear  the  name  of 
Libby,  to  test  his  truthfulness  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
acquainted  with  any  person  of  that  name  in  the 
town.  His  answer  was  more  expressive  than  ele- 
gant :  — 

"  Libby  !  G — d  !  Every  man  in  town's  name's 
Libby,  but  one,  and  his  name's  Libby  Johnson." 

While  partaking  of  his  hearty  meal,  our  joyous 
youth  became  communicative,  and  informed  us  that 
the  kind  old  gent  who  had  so  raised  our  expecta- 
tions had  passed  the  last  few  years  in  State's  Pris- 
on. At  hearing  which,  Tom  didn't  look  at  the 
flags  for  seventeen  minutes.  During  the  hour  and 
a  half  passed  in  eating  and  d — rying  our  feet,  one 
more  poor  pickerel  was  insnared,  evidently  the*  last 
of  his  race,  for  not  another  came  to  taste  our 
tempting  bait ;  and  soon  the  lengthening  shadows 
warned  us  that  it  was  time  to  discontinue  oui 
sport  (?). 


PICKEREL-FISHING  IN  WINTER.       191 

So,  with  great  reluctance  (  ?)  we  prepare  to  leave 
the  fruitful  scene  of  our  day's  enjoyment.  A  half- 
dollar  more  from  the  general  fund  for  the  boy  who 
wound  up  the  lines,  and  with  our  two  pickerel  in  a 
bucket  of  water,  for  Tom's  aquarium,  we  start  for 
home.  Not  much  was  said  as  to  the  grand  result. 
There  was  rather  a  strong  feeling  manifested  by  the 
two  Charleys,  that  we  should  have  done  better  if  we 
had  tried  Billerica  Pond.  But  then,  there  were 
only  five  of  us  besides  the  professor  and  the  boy, 
and  but  twenty-four  lines ;  so  two  pickerel  weren't 
so  bad  after  all. 

It  occurred  to  me  the  other  day,  that  I  would 
like  to  know  what  the  cost  of  "  them  air  "  two  fish 
might  be ;  and  I  give  you  the  result  of  my  fig- 
ures :  — 

One  axe $2  50 

One  long-handled  skimmer I  oo 

One  long-handled  cold  chisel         ....  o  75 

One  bucket  dead  bait I  oo 

One  bucket  live  bait I  oo 

Express  on  ditto o  50 

24  patent  lines,  with  flags  @  250 6  oo 

10  car-fares,  @  5oc 5  oo 

Sleigh  from  depot  to  pond 2  50 

Perquisite  to  kind  old  gent I  oo 

Perquisite  to  good  young  man       ....  o  50 

Lunch  for  six 4  oo 

3  bottles  Leather  Preservative  @  $1.50         .        .  4  50 

Total $30  25 


192        FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

Which,  divided  by  the  aforesaid  two  pickerel,  giv- 
eth  the  cost  of  each  at  $15.1 2  \.  Very  aristocratic 
pickerel.  Don't  you  think  so  ? 

Of  course  the  above  does  not  include  our  cigars, 
and  a  little  something  to  keep  the  cold  out  while 
we  built  the  fire  ;  that's  understood. 

Not  wishing  to  have  this  spot  all  to  ourselves,  I 
have  given  you  the  name  of  the  pond,  and  beg  to 
annex  the  following  diagram  of  it  and  its  surround- 
ings, that  should  my  readers  wish  to  try  their  luck, 
they  may  know  where  to  go,  and  how  it  looks  when 
they  get  there. 

[The  book-maker  says  my  little  sketch  has  got  to 
be  placed  at  the  top  of  the  next  page,  and  he  sends 
to  me  in  great  haste  to  fill  up  this  gap.  Now,  if  I 
had  had  more  experience  in  book-making,  I  should 
have  several  "  chunks  "  written  up  to  supply  such 
wants ;  but  as  I  have  not,  I  will  use  the  space  by 
showing  my  readers  the  uncertainty  of  fishing,  and 
the  aptness  of  the  phrase,  "fisherman's  luck :  "  — 

A  few  days  after  our  excursion,  a  party  of  gentle- 
men from  Cohasset,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  fishing 
the  pond  in  the  summer,  visited  it  for  the  same 
purpose,  and,  with  about  the  same  number  of  lines 
which  we  had,  "toiled  all  day,"  and  caught  nothing. 
This  is  a  lie,  but  it  fills  up  the  space  just  the  same.] 


PICKEREL-FISHING  IN  WINTER.        193 


A  A.  — Lily  Pond,  Cohasset,  beneath  whose  liquid  depths,  etc.,  etc. 

B.  —  The  cot  where  lived  the  gray  haired  sire  (liar). 

C.  —  The  road  to  the  pond,  o'er  which  young  John,  with  flying  feet, 
pursued  the  sleigh. 

D  D  D  D.  —  Holes  (24  in  number),  by  our  artist,  "  Gerry." 

E.  —  The  log  that  furnished  the  ice-cutter's  repast. 

F.  —  This  is  the  fire  that  Tom  built. 

G  G  G.  — This  is  the  island  surrounding  the  fire  that  Tom  built. 
H.  —  Rock  behind  which  Charley  hid  the  Leather  Preservative. 
*  I.  —  Crack  in  the  ice  caused  by  Johnny's  sitting  down  suddenly. 
K.  — Pond  constructed  by  Hall  for  keeping  our  fish. 
L.  M.  —  Our  fish. 

I  have  endeavored  to  make  this  so  clear,  that  the 
most  educated  scholar  can  understand  it ;  but  I 
hope  this  picture  of  a  winter  day's  fishing  is  not 
drawn  in  such  bright  colors  that  the  pond  will  be 
overrun  with  fishermen,  and  our  future  sport 
spoiled. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A   SERIOUS   BREAKDOWN. 

T  was  one  of  those  rare  days  in  the 
woods,  —  which,  fortunately  for  the 
sportsman  whose  time  is  limited,  are 
few, — when  the  shelter  of  the  camp 
and  the  cheering  influence  of  an  open 
fireplace  were  much  to  be  preferred 
to  the  cutting  east  wind  that  was  making  a  minia- 
ture ocean  of  our  usually  peaceful  lake,  and  the 
drenching  which  one  would  receive  from  the  rain 
that  was  falling  without  in  torrents. 

We  had  enjoyed  our  usual  mid-day  meal,  and 
were  smoking  our  pipes,  gathered  around  a  brightly 
burning  fire  in  John  Danforth's  snug  and  cheerful 
lounging-room,  connected  with  his  camp  at  Parma- 
chenee  Lake. 

Charlie,  who  somehow  managed  either  by  hook 
194 


A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN.  195 

or  by  crook  to  get  the  softest  place,  was  stretched 
in  a  hammock  swung  in  the  rear  of  the  room. 

The  conversation  had  taken  a  turn  from  fishing 
to  travelling,  and  Charlie  and  Nate  had  been  relat- 
ing some  of  their  experiences  upon  a  recent  visit 
to  the  Yosemite  Valley ;  the  former  concluding 
with,  "  And  that  is  a  pleasure  you  have  yet  in  store, 
old  man." 

"  Yes ;  and  it  would  have  seemed  to  the  world's 
end,  almost,  when  the  old  man  was  a  young  one," 
I  replied. 

"  I  think,  my  Kind  Commander,"  said  Nate,  "you 
have  met  with  adventures  in  the  Western  country 
in  your  youth :  can't  you  revive  an  incident  to  pass 
away  the  time,  while  the  little  fishes  are  taking  their 
shower-bath  ?  " 

"Yes  :  I  was  thinking  of  one  adventure,  in  par- 
ticular, when  you  were  describing  that  shanty  in  the 
valley  where  you  and  Charlie  lunched.  Call  John 
and  the  rest  of  the  boys,  make  the  circle  round  the 
hearth  a  little  larger,  and  I  will  spin  you  a  yarn  that 
will  take  away  your  appetite  for  supper,  and  send 
you  weeping  lo  your  beds." 

"True,  of  course?" 

"  As  preaching ;  and  yet  it  seems  like  a  dream, 
—  a  shadowy  remembrance  of  the  past,  the  long 
past.  I  can  hardly  realize  that  the  incident  I  am 


196      FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

about  to  relate  ever  really  occurred ;  but  certain 
memoranda,  and  this  small  scar  on  my  forehead 
which  I  shall  carry  to  my  grave,  are  abundant  testi- 
mony of  its  truth. 

"It  was  the  winter  of  18 — .  I  had  been  travel- 
ling in  the  western  part  of  the  States,  or,  rather, 
what  was  then  known  as  the  Great  West ;  but  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  miserable  settlements,  mis- 
called cities,  on  the  farther  bank  of  the  Mississippi, 
the  broad  expanse  of  country  lying  between  that 
mighty  river  and  the  Pacific  coast  was  almost  the 
sole  abiding-place  of  that  fast-disappearing  race 
whose  memory  and  deeds  our  poets  and  novelists 
have  perpetuated  in  many  a  romantic  tale. 

"  These  aborigines  of  the  soil,  known  to  us  through 
authors  and  poets  as  the  'untutored  sons  of  the 
forest,'  the  (  noble  savage,'  and  the  '  red  man  of 
the  plain,'  were,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  hunters, 
trappers,  and  explorers,  the  sole  inhabitants  of  that 
vast  extent  of  country,  now  divided  into  States  and 
Territories,  possessing  large  and  thriving  towns  and 
cities,  all  adding,  with  their  vast  resources  of  cereals 
and  precious  metals,  to  the  wealth  of  our  country, 
etc. ;  as  the  historian  will  .tell  you,  and  all  of  which 
you  know  as  well  as  I. 

"  At  the  time  this  incident  took  place  I  was  liv- 
ing in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  had  made  several 


A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN.  197 

journeys  to  Cairo  City,  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the 
Mississippi,  then  a  much  larger  town  than  Chicago  : 
in  fact,  at  that  time  the  latter  was  but  a  small  village, 
entirely  unsuspicious  of  its  future  greatness. 

"  In  company  with  a  gentleman  much  older  than 
myself,  I  had,  at  that  point,  or  '  city  '  as  it  was 
called,  established  a  trading-post  to  supply  ihe 
Indians  and  the  border  settlers  of  the  vicinity.  As 
you  may  surmise,  I  was  rather  young  to  be  engaged 
in  that  sort  of  business.  I  could  tell  you  how  I 
drifted  into  it,  but  no  matter. 

"It  was  near  the  end  of  November,  as  my 
memoranda  tell  me,  that  I  started  on  my  long  trip, 
making  the  journey  to  Buffalo  from  New  York  by 
stage.  At  that  place  I  embarked  on  a  schooner, 
and  after  a  cold,  dismal,  and  dangerous  voyage, 
arrived  at  Chicago  on  the  i2th  of  December,  some- 
thing like  three  weeks  from  the  time  I  left  New 
York ;  having  passed  through  Lake  Erie  to  Detroit, 
then  through  Detroit  River  to  Lake  Huron,  through 
Huron  and  the  Straits  of  Mackinaw  into  Michigan, 
across  that  lake  to  what  is  now  the  great  city  of  the 
West,  Chicago.  We  were  delayed  several  days  in 
the  straits  by  ice,  and  came  near  being  treated  to 
an  Arctic  experience  by  being  frozen  in. 

"  Little  did  I  dream,  at  that  time,  of  the  improved 
facilities  of  travel  that  we  now  enjoy  :  a  Pullman 


198      FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

palace-car  would  have  seemed  quite  as  fabulous  as 
Aladdin's  palace.  Many  a  time  in  later  years,  when 
making  the  trip  in  thirty-six  hours  from  Boston  with- 
out leaving  my  car,  have  I  thought  of  those  early 
days,  and  wondered  how  I  could  have  endured  so 
much  hardship. 

"  At  Chicago  I  took  stage,  or  an  apology  for  one, 
for  St.  Louis,  distant  about  three  hundred  miles ; 
and  on  the  i9th  of  December  arrived  at  that  city, 
then  quite  a  flourishing  town  of  some  five  thousand 
inhabitants. 

"  At  this  point  it  was  my  intention  to  have  gone 
down  the  Mississippi  by  boat  to  my  destination,  — 
the  city  of  Cairo,  by  river  about  one  hundred  miles 
from  St.  Louis,  —  but  the  season  had  been  unusually 
cold,  and  I  found  the  river  nearly  closed  by  ice,  and 
the  boats  hauled  up.  This  was  a  set-back ;  as  I  had 
intended  buying  some  stores,  and  taking  them  along 
with  me.  Provisions  I  must  have ;  and  there  was 
but  one  way  to  get  them  there,  and  that  was  by 
carting  them  across  the  country. 

"After  making  my  purchases,  I  bought  eight 
stout  mules  and  two  heavy  wagons,  hired  two  lusty 
bushwhackers  for  mule-drivers,  loaded  my  wagons, 
bought  a  mustang  pony,  mounted  him ;  and  off  we 
started,  on  a  clear,  cold  morning,  upon  our  long 
and  tedious  journey.  It  was  rather  a  novel  send-off 


A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN.  199 

for  me,  though  I  had  previously  made  excursions  of 
a  day  on  horseback  in  that  vicinity ;  but  this  was  to 
be  at  least  five  days,  and  through  a  part  of  the 
country  but  little  inhabited  and  scarcely  civilized. 
Still,  I  only  dreaded  the  toil  of  travel.  As  for  fear, 
the  thought  of  danger  never  occurred  to  me :  my 
drivers  had  been  well  recommended,  and  at  that 
time  murders  were  seldom  heard  of,  the  reign  of 
border-ruffianism  not  having  begun. 

"  On  the  second  day,  my  suspicions  that  some- 
thing was  in  the  wind  were  aroused  by  overhearing 
a  fragment  of  conversation  between  the  drivers, 
which  was  suddenly  cut  short  the  moment  they  ob- 
served that  I  was  a  listener.  I  had  heard  enough 
to  put  me  on  my  guard,  but  not  enough  to  con- 
vince me  that  evil  was  intended  :  so,  taking  care  to 
manifest  no  particular  concern,  I  simply  held  myself 
in  readiness  to  prevent  any  manifestations  of  devil- 
try they  might  make. 

"  On  that  day  we  were  expecting  to  reach  the 
little  village  of  Chester,  where  we  intended  passing 
the  night.  I  was  riding  a  short  distance  in  the 
rear  of  the  wagons,  when  Big  Jake,  as  he  was  called, 
came  back  to  tell  me  that  one  of  the  axles  had 
broken,  and  we  should  have  to  haul  up  for  the 
night ;  at  the  same  time  informing  me  that  he  had 
a  friend  living  in  a  log  cabin  about  half  a  mile 
ahead. 


200      FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

"  Reaching  the  wagon,  it  took  me  but  a  moment 
to  satisfy  myself  that  the  so-called  accident  was  no 
accident  at  all,  but  a  wilful  breakdown  on  their 
part,  arranged  undoubtedly  the  night  before.  I 
was  on  the  alert  in  a  moment,  but  said  nothing. 
Covering  the  stores  with  boughs  to  shield  them  in 
case  of  a  storm,  we  unhitched  the  mules,  and 
started  for  the  cabin,  which  we  found  to  be  but  a 
short  distance  away. 

"  It  was  deserted,  apparently  having  been  un- 
occupied for  some  little  time.  Near  it  was  another 
rough-looking  shanty,  which  proved  of  great  service 
to  me  in  the  end,  for  it  contained  a  dilapidated 
forge  :  though  it  had  evidently  not  been  used  for 
months,  yet,  with  some  tinkering,  I  saw  that  it 
could  be  made  available  for  our  repairs. 

"  The  cabin  was  desolate  enough.  It  contained 
three  rooms,  two  of  which  had  evidently  been  used 
for  sleeping,  and  the  other  as  a  kitchen  :  in  the 
centre  of  this  was  a  large  stove,  with  three  wooden 
benches  drawn  up  about  it ;  on  the  floor  were  sev- 
eral pieces  of  broken  crockery,  and  the  remains  of 
two  or  three  clay  pipes  well  colored.  I  saw  enough 
to  convince  me  that  the  place  had  been  occupied 
by  some  outlawed  band,  most  likely  for  no  good 
purpose. 

"In  each  of  the  sleeping-rooms  was  a  sort  of 


A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN.  201 

bunk,  similar  to  a  sailor's  berth  in  the  forecastle  of 
a  ship,  capable  of  accommodating  two  or  three 
persons  each,  if  they  were  disposed  to  be  neigh- 
borly. A  few  withered  boughs  still  remained  on  the 
loose  boards.  A  solitary  stool  in  each  sleeping-room 
comprised  the  furniture  of  the  camp,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  stove  and  benches,  and  a  rickety  old 
table,  upon  which  we  spread  the  few  stores  we  had 
brought  along  for  provisions  on  the  way. 

"Jake  and  Short  Pete,  the  other  driver,  soon 
made  a  fire  in  the  stove,  and,  after  putting  out  the 
mules,  went  into  the  bush  to  cut  some  fresh  boughs 
for  our  beds.  While  they  were  gone,  I  made  the 
best  of  my  time  taking  observations.  There  was 
nothing  to  alarm  one  about  the  cabin.  Save  its 
deserted  appearance,  it  might  be  like  many  others 
in  that  vicinity;  but,  while  exploring,  I  made  a 
discovery  which,  though  comparatively  of  little 
moment,  nevertheless  set  me  to  thinking. 

"  In  one  of  the  sleeping-rooms,  hanging  from  a 
huge  spike  driven  into  a  log  in  the  roof  over  one 
of  the  bunks,  was  about  two-thirds  of  a  leg  of  veni- 
son, which,  being  nearly  the  color  of  the  surround- 
ing objects,  had  before  escaped  my  notice.  Upon 
examining  it  more  closely,  I  saw  that  slices  had 
been  quite  recently  cut  from  it ;  and,  continuing 
my  researches,  I  became  satisfied,  that,  in  spite  of 


202       FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

its  deserted  look,  the  cabin  had  been  occupied 
within  a  very  short  time. 

"  This  of  itself  was  of  trifling  consequence  ;  but 
putting  the  actions  of  my  drivers,  the  broken  axle, 
and  the  '  friend's '  house  together,  I  certainly  felt 
that  I  had  some  cause  for  alarm  :  so,  taking  the 
benefit  of  their  absence  to  give  my  pistol  a  careful 
examination,  I  sat  down,  and  took  a  mental  review 
of  affairs,  concluding  with  wondering  what  the  '  old 
folks  at  home  '  would  think  if  they  knew  just  how 
.their  hopeful  son  was  being  entertained. 

"It  was  the  22d  of  December,  Forefathers'  Day, 
Old  Style ;  and,  remembering  it,  I  compared  situa- 
tions, and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was 
not  much  to  choose  between  us. 

"  I  had  but  a  short  time,  however,  for  reflections ; 
as  the  drivers  very  soon  returned,  and  prepared  the 
bunks  for  our  reception.  The  day,  which  had  been 
cloudy,  now  began  to  show  signs  of  a  storm ;  and, 
before  darkness  had  come,  the  snowflakes  were 
rapidly  falling,  and  soon  the  ground  was  completely 
covered.  I  thought  the  men  exchanged  sinister 
glances,  as  if  the  snow-fall  was  not  at  all  to  their 
liking.  Aside  from  this,  I  saw  nothing  of  a  suspi- 
cious nature. 

"  We  ate  our  supper  together,  they  appearing  as 
companionable  as  one  could  wish ;  and,  after  a 


A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN.  203 

long  smoke,  we  retired  at  about  nine  o'clock  to  our 
respective  bunks.  The  better  of  the  two,  if  there 
was  a  choice,  was  given  to  me;  and  I  had  the 
satisfaction  of  having  the  haunch  of  venison  for 
company. 

"  A  solitary  tallow  candle,  which  we  found  in  the 
cabin,  half-burned,  gave  me  all  the  light  I  desired. 
I  was  not  long  in  getting  to  bed ;  my  preparations 
being  simply  laying  aside  my  hat,  and  placing  my 
pistol  under  my  coat,  which  I  was  using  for  a  pillow. 
Being  thus  guarded,  you  may  perhaps  think  I  was 
ready  to  go  to  sleep.  By  no  means  !  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  closing  my  eyes  through  the 
night :  let  what  would  come,  I  was  determined  not 
to  be  caught  napping.  So  there  I  lay,  and  listened 
and  thought.  The  men  I  could  occasionally  hear 
talking,  in  a  low  voice,  in  their  room  ;  but  soon 
they  stopped,  and  silence  reigned.  I  hesitated 
whether  I  would  not  feign  sickness,  and  get  up 
myself,  and  call  them  up;  but  concluded  to  let 
things  take  their  course  as  best  —  or  worst  —  they 
might. 

"  One  can  think  of  a  good  part  of  his  life  in 
a  single  night,  particularly  if  he  has  an  idea  that 
it  may  be  his  last  on  earth. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  you  believe  that  I  thought  my 
last  night  had  come ;  not  quite  so  bad  as  that. 


204      FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES. 

But  I  will  own  up  to  the  fact  that  I  was  exceed- 
ingly nervous,  —  well,  'awfully  scared,'  if  you  like 
that  better :  there  was  mischief  in  the  air,  and  I 
knew  it,  and  that  was  enough.  You  have  felt,  every 
one  of  you,  a  certain  something  which  you  could  not 
explain,  warning  you  of  approaching  danger  :  often- 
times, though,  unfortunately,  the  impression  comes 
too  late. 

"  Well,  the  time  wore  on.  The  stillness  was  pain- 
ful, arid  my  eyeballs  ached ;  till  at  last,  long  after  I 
had  thought  that  morning  must  be  near,  nature 
could  no  longer  bear  the  strain,  and  I  fell  asleep. 
How  long  I  slept,  I  knew  not ;  but  when  I  woke,  I 
saw  something  calculated  to  make  one  shiver  in 
his  boots,  if  he  had  any  on ;  and  I  had. 

"  The  door  of  my  room  was  pushed  open,  as  I 
could  plainly  see  by  the  faint  glimpse  of  daylight 
now  fast  approaching ;  and  Big  Jake,  followed  by 
Pete,  was  entering  upon  tiptoe,  Pete  remaining 
just  outside  the  door.  How  I  happened  to  wake  at 
that  particular  moment,  is  another  mystery ;  for  it 
was  afterwards  proved  beyond  question  that  they 
entered  without  a  sound. 

"  Big  Jake,  with  a  long,  murderous  knife  in  his 
hand,  advanced  to  my  bed  :  instinctively  I  reached 
for  my  pistol,  and  was  ready  in  a  moment,  as  cool 
and  collected  then  as  if  I  had  had  an  army  at  my 
back. 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES.       205 

"  Taking  the  stool  in  his  other  hand  as  he  passed 
it,  Jake  was  soon  by  the  side  of  my  bunk ;  setting 
it  softly  down,  he  mounted  it,  bringing  himself  a 
little  more  than  waist-high  against  my  body  as  I 
lay.  Cat-like  I  watched  every  movement  with 
half-closed  eyes,  Pete  doing  the  same  from  the 
doorway  where  he  remained.  My  finger  was  on 
the  trigger  of  my  pistol,  and  I  was  ready  to  pull 
at  the  first  real  murderous  action  on  the  part  of 
Jake.  He  ran  his  finger  in  a  cruel  manner  across 
the  edge  of  his  knife,  exchanged  a  significant  glance 
with  Pete,  raised  himself  to  his  full  height,  and  in 
an  instant  —  cut  a  rousing  great  slice  from  the  leg 
of  venison,  which  I  had  quite  forgotten,  over  my 
head  ! " 

"And  is  that  all  there  was  about  it?" 

"  That's  all :  the  boys  thought  I  was  pretty  well 
used  up,  and  they  would  let  me  sleep  until  break- 
fast was  ready,  supposing  they  could  carve  the 
venison  without  waking  me." 

"  How  about  the  breakdown?  " 

"All  a  stupid  blunder  on  my  part,  —  another  one 
of  those  unaccountable  mysterious  forces  that  drive 
you  on  to  absurd  conclusions.  The  boys  proved 
as  fine  fellows  as  ever  drove  mules,  and  worked  for 
me  for  several  months." 

"And  that  little  scar  on  your  forehead?" 


206  A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN. 

11  Oh  !  that  isn't  there  any  more." 

"  Chestnuts,"  from  Charlie. 

"  Oh  !  I  see  :  you  intimate,  from  that  significant 
word,  that  you  have  heard  a  story  somewhat  akin 
to  this.  Well,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you 
had.  An  old  rod  with  a  new  joint  or  two,  that's 
all." 

"How  old  are  you,  Mr.  Stevens?"  asks  John 
Danforth,  with  a  sly  wink  at  Nate,  who  was  busy 
making  faces  at  a  caribou's  head  high  up  on  a 
beam. 

"  Seventy-two." 

"  I  thought  at  least  that." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,"  says  Charlie,  stopping  John's  mouth 
in  a  very  ungentlemanly  manner,  "  no  railroads, 
and  all  that  nonsense.  Didn't  he  go  a  long  way 
round  ?  Must  have  liked  the  lakes  as  well  then  as 
now.  —  Never  mind,  we  forgive  you.  1  managed  to 
get  a  good  nap  while  you  were  buzzing  the  guides 
and  that  innocent  brother  of  mine." 

"Thank  me  for  that  much  at  least,  if  not  for 
originality ;  and  remember  that  it  was  a  wise  king 
that  said,  'There  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun.'  " 

"But  he  lied,"  said  Nate,  still  winking  at  the 
caribou,  and  trying  to  send  him  up  a  mouthful  of 
smoke. 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES.      207 

"  Under  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  No  :  under  a  canopy  of  purple  and  gold,  instead 
of  a  mosquito-netting  held  up  by  a  gingham  um- 
brella, as  I  shall  to-night." 

"  Hush  !  —  John,  where  are  the  toothpicks?  " 

"  In  that  otter's  skull  on  the  table." 

"  Move  over  here,  all  of  you ;  and  I  will  show 
you  how  a  murderer  once  disposed  of  all  traces  of 
his  victim.  Now>pay  attention.  Fortunately  these 
are  the  double-pointed,  unbreakable  article,  par- 
ticularly adapted  to  double  teeth ;  and  I  am  glad 
of  it,  for,  with  any  other  kind,  I  could  not  illustrate 
my  story. 

"  Observe,  I  have  six ;  and  I  interlace  them  thus, 
placing  the  first  three  side  by  side,  about  half  an 
inch  apart.  The  other  three  I  place  crosswise  of 
these,  one  at  each  end,  and  one  in  the  middle, 
interweaving  them  like  a  mat :  thus,  see. 

"  This  represents  a  spring  bed  or  mattress  upon 
which  the  assassin  placed  the  body,  which  I  will 
ask  you,  if  you  can,  to  imagine  this  owl's  claw  to 
be;  and,  if  you  ever  show  this  to  a  friend,  don't 
put  on  more  weight  than  two  or  three  tooth- 
picks. 

"  Now  I  light  a  match,  and  set  fire  to  this 
extreme  corner  of  the  bed." 

"  Won't  any  corner  do  as  well?  " 


208 


A   SERIOUS  BREAKDOWN. 


"  Certainly  :  it  makes  no  difference.    Now  watch 
the  result." 

"  Well !  my  Kind  Commander."     (Nate.) 

"  Whew  !  "     (Charlie.) 

"  By  thunder  !  "     (John  Danforth.) 


A  RETROSPECT. 

^HERE  the  Androscoggin  rises, 

'Mid  the  waving  pines  of  Maine, 
^      Rushes  o'er  its  pebbly  bottom, 

Swelled  by  spring  and  autumn  rain, 
Four  charming  lakes  of  wide  expanse, 
Lie  sheltered  by  the  leaf-clad  hills ; 
Whose  sparkling  waters  gather  strength 
From  coolest  spring  and  clearest  rills. 

Beneath  their  waves,  the  wary  trout 

Cleave  the  clear  water  as  they  play, 
Or  tempted  by  the  bright-winged  fly, 

Dart  to  the  surface  for  their  prey. 
The  screaming  loon,  betokening  storm, 

Swift  cuts  the  air  in  stately  flight, 
Or  proudly  sailing  with  the  breeze, 

Dives  to  escape  the  fowler's  sight. 

On  the  green  banks,  the  lofty  trees 
Fling  out  their  branches  to  the  sky, 

209 


210  A   RETROSPECT. 

Now  sighing  with  the  morning  breeze, 
Now  echoing  to  the  cuckoo's  cry. 

The  air  is  filled  with  sweet  perfumes 
Of  fragrant  mosses,  and  of  vines, 

Mingled  with  odors  grand  and  full, 
From  hemlock,  balsam,  and  the  pines. 

Charming  retreat  from  haunts  of  men, 

And  city's  busy,  bustling  strife, 
I  long  to  tread  thy  shores  again, 

There  to  renew  my  "  lease  of  life." 
The  bracing  ride  on  stage-coach  top, 

The  murmuring  stream,  the  village  bell, 
The  shadow  on  that  range  of  hills 

Whereon  my  eye  delights  to  dwell ; 
The  throwing  off  of  every  care, 

The  easy  lounge,  and  grateful  rest, 
Stanch  buckboard,  way-side  spring,  — 

Each  in  their  turn  give  zest. 

I  long  to  joint  my  tapering  rod, 

And  cast  the  bright  and  tempting  fly ; 
To  see  them  float  upon  the  stream, 

Or  hover  'twixt  the  lake  and  sky; 
To  watch  the  rise,  to  swiftly  strike, 

To  feel  the  breath  come  hard  and  thick, 
To  press  my  fingers  on  the  reel, 

And  hear  the  music  of  its  click. 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES.      21 1 

"  Come,  see !  the  west  is  tinged  with  red, 

The  cove  is  gently  rippled  o'er; 
There's  waiting  sport  for  us  to-night, 

We'll  net,  my  boy,  at  least  a  score." 

"  Just  one  more  cast,  I  yet  can  see 

That  miller's  white  and  dainty  wing; 
Hold !  there  he  comes,  strike  quick  and  hard; 

Oh !  don't  he  make  that  leader  sing  1 
He's  doubling  on  you,  look  out,  sir! 

He  knows  the  game,  just  see  him  cut ! 
I'll  risk  my  rod  to  save  that  trout: 

Stand  by  now  Frank,  he's  got  the  butt" 

It  bends  — almost  a  circle  now, 

There's  music  —  not  another  inch; 
Good-by,  old  rod,  you're  stanch  and  true, 

But  yet  —  ha,  ha!  Sir  Trout,  you  flinch. 
"He's  winded,  sir"  — "The  net,  please,  Frank." 

(Head  first,  my  beauty,  if  you  please.) 
He'll  turn  the  scale  at  four,  sir,  sure ; 

Well,  that's  not  bad  for  joints  like  these. 
Up  anchor,  boys !  the  shadows  fall, 

The  mist  is  slowly  settling  down  ; 
Said  one,  as  trudging  to  our  camp : 

"God  made  the  country,  man  the  town." 


' 


SUPPLEMENTARY. 


ET  it  be  first  stated,  that,  in  writing 
the  foregoing  pages,  I  avoided  techni- 
calities as  much  as  possible,  conced- 
ing that  my  readers  would  be  one  of 
two  classes,  —  those  who  understand 
and  enjoy  fly-fishing,  and  those  who 
do  not,  and  might  not  care  to  learn,  but  would 
read  my  sketches  for  the  amusement  of  an  idle 
hour.  The  question  has,  however,  several  times 
been  asked  me  by  those,  it  seems,  who  would  learn 
the  "gentle  art:"  "Why  didn't  you  tell  us  what 
kind  of  flies  to  use,  and  how  to  use  them?  " 

In  response  to  these  queries,  it  will  give  me 
pleasure  to  add  a  short  chapter  to  this  new  edition, 
which  may  be  of  some  benefit  to  novices  in  their 
selection  of  rods,  flies,  snells,  &c. ;  but  I  sadly 
fear  I  shall  fail  to  impart  much  information  that 
will  be  of  great  service  in  the  art  of  fly-fishing,  for 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES.       213 

an  art  it  certainly  is,  my  gentle  reader.  I  have  yet 
to  see  the  scholar  who  could  acquire  proficiency  in 
painting  or  sculpture  from  books  alone,  or  the  offi- 
cer who  could  manoeuvre  his  brigade  or  regiment, 
even  though  he  could  repeat  Upton's  Manual  from 
cover  to  cover.  Practice  you  must  have,  with  your- 
self at  one  end  of  the  rod  and  a  trout  at  the  other. 

But  I  can  give  you  some  idea  of  what  imple- 
ments to  select  for  your  outfit.  First,  the  rod.  A 
hexagonal  split  bamboo,  eleven  and  a  half  feet  in 
length,  of  three  joints,  with  German-silver  mount- 
ings, and  weighing  about  ten  ounces,  is  my  favorite. 
Such  an  one  may  be  had  of  the  maker,  Mr.  B.  F. 
Nichols  of  Boston ;  price,  I  think,  with  extra  tip 
and  case,  twenty  dollars.  He  also  makes  them 
heavier  and  lighter.  These  rods  having  stood  the 
test  for  six  years,  and  having  received  both  at  home 
and  at  the  International  Fishery  Exhibition  of  1883 
medals  of  high  honor,  are,  both  as  specimens  of 
beautiful  workmanship  and  durability,  well  worthy 
of  the  high  praise  which  has  been  bestowed  upon 
them  by  their  fortunate  possessors. 

You  should  always  carry  a  second  rod  in  case 
of  accidents.  It  is  a  good  plan  to  change  your 
rods  in  fishing,  resting  them  as  it  were.  Do  not 
stand  them  on  end  when  not  in  use,  but  lay  them 
on  wooden  pins  prepared  for  that  purpose :  they 


214  SUPPLEMENTARY. 

should  be  kept  well  varnished ;  use  copal  varnish. 
Don't,  pray  don't,  call  your  rod  a  "  pole."  For  a 
line  I  prefer  a  tapering  braided  silk  :  forty  yards  is 
sufficient.  The  reel  should  be  German-silver,  nickel, 
or  rubber ;  either  is  good  if  well  made  :  don't  pur- 
chase a  cheap  one,  and  avoid  what  is  called  a 
"multipler,"  they  are  a  nuisance.  Your  leader,  or 
casting-line,  should  be  six  feet  in  length,  made  of 
good  strong  snell,  and  capable  of  sustaining  a  dead 
weight  of  five  pounds. 

For  trout-fishing  three  flies  are  ordinarily  used  : 
though  generally  I  prefer  two  ;  they  cast  much  bet- 
ter, and  work  better  on  the  water.  When  three 
are  used,  the  hand-fly  (that  next  the  hand)  should 
be  thirty  inches  from  the  middle  fly,  and  the  mid- 
dle thirty-two  inches  from  the  tail  fly.  When  only 
two,  the  second  should  be  thirty-four  inches  from 
the  tail  fly.  As  regards  the  size  of  hook,  that 
depends  upon  the  size  of  the  trout.  Tell  the  party 
of  whom  you  purchase  where  you  propose  to  go, 
and  he  will  select  the  proper  size.  A  landing-net 
is  indispensable. 

Flies :  a  few  hackles  of  various  colors  you  will 
always  need,  also  gnats  for  small  trout.  Of  the 
winged  flies,  the  silver  doctor,  Montreal,  fiery 
brown,  coachman,  and  scarlet  ibis  are  standards, 
and  are  always  good.  Three  dozen  is  enough. 


FLY-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES.       215 

though  your  artist  will  have  as  many  different  varie- 
ties as  that  in  his  fly-book.  It  is  not  a  good  plan  to 
have  many  to  carry  over  :  the  snell  is  apt  to  weaken 
with  age,  as  I  have  before  said  in  these  pages. 

Now  you  have  your  implements,  step  out  on  that 
rock,  and  begin  your  casts,  first  looking  behind  you 
to  see  that  your  flies  don't  go  "  up  a  tree."  Do  not 
attempt  to  get  out  too  long  a  line  :  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  will  be  all  you  will  be  able  to  handle  at  the 
start,  increasing  as  you  become  more  expert  in  the 
art.  An  experienced  fly-fisherman  will  cast  seventy 
to  eighty  feet  under  favorable  circumstances.  Now 
draw  your  flies  gently  over  the  surface  of  the  water, 
and  at  the  proper  time,  as  the  flies  near  you,  raise 
your  rod,  throwing  your  line  back  of  you,  giving  it 
plenty  of  time  to  straighten.  I  accustomed  myself, 
in  learning,  to  count  one,  two,  three,  four,  moder- 
ately, and  found  the  practice  quite  a  help ;  remem- 
ber all  novices  fail  in  not  taking  sufficient  time  for 
the  back  cast.  The  act  of  casting  should  be  made 
from  the  elbow,  and  not  from  the  shoulder ;  and  it 
is  well  to  learn  to  cast  with  the  rod  in  either  hand. 

When  the  fish  rises  to  take  the  hook,  give  your 
wrist  a  sharp  inward  turn,  quick,  but  not  too  hard ; 
this  is  called  "  striking."  If  you  miss,  and  the 
trout  has  riot  been  pricked,  he  is  likely  to  come 
again.  Now  is  the  time  for  coolness :  if  you  fail 


2 1 6  S  UP  PL  EMENTA  R  Y. 

to  show  it,  you  will  probably  have  a  tangled  line. 
When  you  have  hooked  your  fish,  which  you  shall 
do  if  you  have  "  ye  patience  and  ye  haunts  of 
ye  trout,"  let  your  coolness  continue.  Give  him 
time  and  line ;  check  him  gently ;  when  he  is 
stubborn  give  him  the  butt,  which  is  done  by  push- 
ing the  butt  end  of  the  rod  out  toward  the  fish. 
Five  minutes  is  about  the  time  required  to  land  a 
pound  trout,  though  you  may  frequently  be  ten.  It 
does  not  always  depend  upon  the  weight  of  the  fish ; 
though,  naturally,  the  larger  the  fish  the  longer  time 
required  to  bring  him  to  net.  If  you  are  fortunate 
enough  to  strike  a  pair,  which  is  often  done,  the 
lower  fish  should  be  first  netted.  If  you  should 
have  three,  let  your  guide  remove  the  upper  one 
with  his  hands,  after  tiring  him  :  the  trout  should  be 
netted  head  first. 

Let  your  guide  advise  as  to  changes  of  flies, 
which  need  not  be  often,  for  if  the  trout  are  in  a 
rising  mood  they  will  take  most  any  of  the  before- 
mentioned  flies.  It  is  well  to  have  a  different  cast 
prepared,  which  you  may  wind  about  your  hat,  to 
be  in  readiness  for  use.  Always  soak  your  casting- 
lines  before  using. 

Finally,  remember  this,  that  the  sport  is  in  the 
pitting  of  your  best  endeavors  against  this  wary  fish, 
and,  could  you  take  them  as  rapidly  as  you  would 
naturally  desire,  the  sport  would  soon  grow  tame ; 


FL  Y-FISHING  IN  MAINE  LAKES.        2 1  7 

and  also  this,  that  to  excel  in  the  art  of  fishing  with 
the  fly  is  not,  to  my  mind,  the  true  aim  or  the 
highest  purpose  of  the  angler, — but  so  to  enjoy 
the  sport  and  your  communings  with  Nature,  that 
in  your  latest  years,  when,  perchance,  "  the  grass- 
hopper shall  become  a  burden,  and  desire  shall 
fail,"  when  the  shadows  lengthen  as  the  sun  de- 
clines, Memory,  —  that 

"  First,  best  friend  that  Heaven  assigns  below, 
To  soothe  and  soften  all  the  cares  we  know,  — 
Whose  glad  suggestions  still  each  vain  alarm, 
When  nature  fades,  and  life  forgets  to  charm, — 
Its  softest  view  in  magic  glass  reveals, 
When  o'er  the  landscape  time's  meek  twilight  steals." 


B.  F.  NICHOLS, 

MANUFACTURER  OF 

HEXAGONAL  SPLIT  BAMBOO 

SALMON,  TROUT,  AND  BASS 

fi  Y 
L-i  I 

FACTORY,   153   MILK   STREET, 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


FF/cdals  #  o[*|~lor)0p. 

MASSACHUSETTS    CHARITABLE     MECHANIC    ASSOCIATION. 
Silver  Medal  and  Diploma. 

1881. 
LONDON    INTERNATIONAL    FISHERIES    EXHIBITION. 

3  Silver  Medals.     3   Diplomas. 

The  Highest  Special  Prize,  TEN   POUNDS,  And  a  Diploma  of  Honor. 
1883. 


SEND    FOR    PRICE-LIST. 


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